Kingsfoil
by Raider-K
Summary: No elven ring of power, no magical mirror-Just Sass and Class! Thranduil has always done whatever it takes to hold his kingdom together against the onslaught of Sauron's forces from Dol Guldur. There's healing power in the hands of the king, but will it be enough to save his kingdom? Set during LOTR. Thranduil/OC. #ElvenKingsNeedLoveToo!
1. Anxious

Dear Readers: This story follows the timeline of the War of the Ring, detailing what happens in Mirkwood while the Fellowship makes their journey toward Mordor. This story does have some major characters that first make their appearance in my other story, _Wanderlust_, but I also think it can stand on its own.

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><p><em>Kingsfoil<em>

Prologue: Anxious

July 3018, The Third Age

The night was already late and well into the early hours of the morning when Legolas met with his father, not in the throne room, but in the king's own private study. It did not escape Thranduil's notice that his son's eyes were weary, and his usual immaculate appearance looked rather unkempt. His son was exhausted, Thranduil decided, and rightfully so. For the past week, his patrols had searched desperately for that miserable creature, Gollum, but with little good fortune, and orc raids had tested the border patrols every night. As Captain of the guard, Legolas had shouldered every responsibility, but also every loss as well, and the cost weighed on him heavily.

"How many?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"Three more, Father," the prince answered bleakly. "At this rate, we will not be able to hold our border against Dol Guldur any longer—"

Thranduil cut him off. "Stop the search for Gollum, Legolas. We can ill afford any more losses on our borders and could use the extra guards to reinforce the southern ridge."

The prince's eyes flashed. "What? And just let him go back to the enemy? Father, you know what Estel said about keeping him safe!"

Thranduil placed a calming hand on his son's shoulder and sighed. "I know, Legolas. Estel was wholly right about that creature's penchant for mischief, I fear." He picked up a loose piece of parchment from his desk and passed it to the prince. "And now Elrond has sent word, again." The king crossed his arms and waited for Legolas to scan the contents of the Rivendell lord's latest missive.

After a quick perusal, Legolas glanced up. "Father, you must let me go to this council. It was my fault that Gollum escaped. I should bear the news to Lord Elrond myself."

Thranduil's eyes darkened. "It was no one's fault, Legolas, except that accursed creature."

"Father, please. Please let me do this. You know that I have traveled to Imladris before and can make the journey quickly."

"What of Thaliniel, Legolas?" Thranduil hedged. "You know that she will want to go with you."

"She has made the journey with me in the past, many times," his son countered. He knew his wife would want to go, even if the road was more dangerous than ever.

Thranduil dropped back into his favorite chair and picked up his glass. He swirled the contents for a moment, before taking a slow sip, hating the words he knew he must say. "You may go to Imladris, Legolas, but please be careful and return as soon as possible. I need you here."

Legolas nodded, and his eyes were grave. "Thank you, my king. We will be careful." He picked up his weapons at the door and paused. Rarely had he seen his father look so fatigued. "Father? I called Narylfiel back from the front lines."

The king looked up sharply. "She will not thank you for that, son," said Thranduil. "She will not want to stay in palace long when the fight has turned so deadly on our southern rim." He tiredly pulled off his crown and unceremoniously dumped it on the table near his chair.

Legolas frowned. "Yes, but she will follow her captain's orders. It will put my mind at ease to know that she is safe in the palace."

Thranduil drained his glass and stood. He knew he would find no rest that night, but he might as well take refuge in the comfort of his own chambers and fully stocked wine closet. Picking up his crown, he followed his son toward the royal quarters, neither speaking, for their hearts were heavy. The king stopped the prince before entering his chambers.

"Thank you, Legolas," said the king, meeting his son's eyes, and with a good night, shut his door. He offered no explanation for his thanks, nor did he need to.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Woot! New story, and I am super excited. This will be my first Thranduil-centric story. Long live the party king! <em>


	2. Stunning

_Kingsfoil_

Chapter 1: Stunning

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><p><em>...Four hundred years ago…<em>

_She had never seen him before and had only heard stories, so when the day finally came, Narylfiel was fairly certain that he could hardly live up to her expectations. After all she was a young impressionable elleth with a very vivid imagination. Her father had told her stories about his bravery during the Battle of the Last Alliance, her aunt had filled her ear with tales of times that she had seen him pass by on the way to Dale, a set of sleek elven warriors on either side of his mount. He rode taller than most in the saddle and, in her aunt's words, was impossibly fair._

_Yes, she could imagine quite a bit. _

_So when at last she had a chance to see the King of the Woodland Realm for herself on a fateful day in Dale, Narylfiel thought she was better prepared than most for the meeting. _

_She could not have been more wrong. _

_She was glad, so glad, that her neighbor Barathion went through the door first that day, clumsily explaining their errand to the king and giving her a chance to collect herself before necessity would require introductions. For just a moment there when she first peeked at the king sitting at his desk, Narylfiel found herself speechless, her heart strangely aflutter in her chest._

_She could not have named for you the strange feeling coursing through her veins that day, but she felt as though all of Arda might have fallen away and been replaced with a brighter, more luminous version of itself. _

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><p>July 3018<p>

Thranduil. Long had he been her refuge, her confidante, her rock, but only now, Narylfiel felt more inclined to punch him in the face. She was sure that it had been on his orders that her patrol duty with the Forest Guard had been cut short.

She tapped her foot impatiently outside the king's study, while one of the royal guards secured permission for her to enter. She hardly ever had to wait, for she was a regular visitor to the king, but the guard Elphir must have sensed that something was amiss. He was probably warning off the king right now. Caution: crazy elleth outside. Narylfiel narrowed her eyes at the thought until Thranduil's voice called for her admittance. She brushed past Elphir with a sneer, almost feeling bad at the abject look of hurt in the elf's eyes. He had long been one of her favorites, ever since she was a young elleth, but no one, no one, could ever rise so high in her estimation as King Thranduil.

Even in her angry, generally disgruntled, 'I really want to hate you right now' frame of mind, Narylfiel almost forgot herself as their eyes met across the room. He was just so...stunning? Handsome beyond compare? Immaculate? She had grown up under the protection of his halls, as one of his favourite companions, and still she struggled to find words to describe him. She broke eye contact and pointed a smudged finger at him. "You!" she bit off the word. "Did you, or did you not, tell your son to send orders requesting my return to the palace?"

Thranduil eyed her for a minute, gauging for himself the level of her pique. In truth, he sort of enjoyed seeing Narylfiel worked unto a huff, her cheeks faintly pink and her eyes blazing. "I am glad to see you returned safely, Narylfiel," he told her, his voice as smooth and warm as the cup of tea in his hand. He took a slow sip and crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, comfortable.

Her eyes sparked. "You did not answer the question, my lord," she prompted him.

"No, I did not," replied the king, faint amusement coloring his tone.

"No, you did not send the order, or 'No' as in you did not answer my question?" She prompted him.

"Legolas sent the order, Narylfiel," corrected the king as he gestured toward the settee by the fire. "Have a seat. Try some of these delicious tarts, your favorite," he tempted her.

Narylfiel eyed the tray, and then jerked the glove off her left hand, her vambraces following shortly after. She stole a glance at the king, cozy in his chair, and then dropped the pair of them unceremoniously on the floor with a clatter. Narylfiel pulled off her right shoulder guard next and then huffed as the closure on the back snagged in her hair. She yanked on it and then eyed Thranduil poisonously.

"Don't you dare laugh," she warned him. She tried twisting around to see the back of her armor.

"I would never," said the king, the corners of his lips quirking up. He sat his tea down on the tray and rose from his chair.

Narylfiel gave her armor a fierce tug, immediately wincing as her hair pulled even tighter.

"Stop," he chided her. "You'll pull your hair out."

She scowled and stopped.

"Here, let me," he said, moving behind her, gathering her long brown hair into his left hand, while his right worked deftly to free the snarl of hair from the fastenings of her armor. "You are far too impulsive, naurenniel." His voice was soft against her ear, and she could feel his breath warm against her neck as he leaned in closer to try and work her hair loose from the lower fastening.

Narylfiel stilled and felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Naurenniel—little flame—his nickname for her since she had come to live in his palace as an elfling. He would always see her as a child.

"I still had two weeks left of my patrol on the southern rim," stated Narylfiel while the king continued to work on her hair. "Why did Legolas send me back early? We were short-handed as it was."

Thranduil pulled the last snag of hair loose and gently guided her around to face him. "Narylfiel, he did so out of concern for me, I'm afraid. Legolas and your sister both left yesterday morning to answer a summons from Lord Elrond. He has called a council in Imladris. The prince probably thought I could use some company."

At once, Narylfiel understood and tentatively placed her hand on his shoulder. "They will arrive safely, Thranduil. Thaliniel will keep Legolas from doing anything too reckless, I am sure."

He nodded and bleakly added, "I knew once that wretched creature escaped that Legolas would need to leave soon to inform Estel, but..." His eyes darkened. Thranduil never felt at ease when his son left the safety of their borders.

"The enemy is getting stronger, my king. Our lines on the southern border were sorely tested," Narylfiel said gravely, remembering the casualties suffered in the last attack. Three dead, when merely one was a price too high to pay.

"So Legolas told me," the king agreed. He had met with the families of the fallen only hours earlier, and he hated seeing the same defeated look in Narylfiel's eyes. "Enough of this gloomy talk. I have scant seen you for two weeks, and I would have our visit dwell on happier matters." He offered her a small smile as he led her to his sitting area, where the tray of tarts still waited, deliciously tempting.

"Did you tell Ernil to bake these?" Narylfiel said as she placed one on a delicate plate and then poured the king some more tea before helping herself to some. Narylfiel's stay at the king's court had greatly improved her social graces, and Thranduil had since let her take over the role of hostess during their tea times together.

Thranduil smiled again. He may have mentioned it in passing to the head baker, who knew that both the king and his young companion had a deep fondness for his berry tarts. Ernil adored the prince's wife and her young sister.

"So, Narylfiel, have you caught anyone's eye while you were out on patrol?" the king inquired, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hardly," she snorted.

This was a game they had been playing for years. He would ask if she had any suitors, and then she would go down the list of guards she served with or the young courtiers in the palace, explaining while the whole lot of them were implicitly unsuitable. Much more often, Narylfiel was the matchmaker, not the matchee; she had an uncanny gift for seeing who would pair well with whom. After all, had she not orchestrated her own sister's marriage to Prince Legolas? She had known from the start that they would be perfect for each other. All it had taken was a little plotting, a little prodding. Since then she had made several more splendid matches among her friends in the guard and in the palace.

Except for herself, she mused half-heartedly.

"Hmm," said Thranduil as he sipped from his tea. "What about Nendir?" The ellon in question had been extremely attentive to Narylfiel during the last feast.

Narylfiel fixed him with an incredulous look. "Nendir? Thranduil, please! I think you put him up to it."

Now the king's turn to look astonished. "You are charming and lovely in your own right, Narylfiel. You hardly need my help," he scoffed. In truth, he _had_ asked Nendir to entertain Narylfiel. The king liked to play matchmaker as much as she.

Narylfiel grew silent and picked at her berry tart. It did not escape Thranduil's notice that she had hardly eaten.

"Narylfiel, what troubles you?" Thranduil asked her, and most of the time the warmth of his voice could tempt her to spill all of her secret worries. She usually ended up telling him everything.

"All of my friends have paired off, gotten married," she mumbled, not raising her eyes.

"And much of that was of your own doing," Thranduil reminded her. "But you are still very young and should not feel so lonely."

"Yes, that's true, only—" but she did not finish what she started.

"You are worried for your sister and Legolas?" Thranduil guessed.

She nodded her head, letting the king believe that was the sole cause of her misery. Of course she had other things on her mind, but she _was_ worried for them.

Thranduil set his tea down and moved next to her on the settee. "Come over here," he prompted her and propped his arm up on the back of the furniture.

Narylfiel slid over next to him, comforted by his warmth and scent, which always reminded her of a crisp autumn day in the forest. They had sat this way many times over the years, gossiping, reading, planning parties together, laughing, his arm draped around her shoulders.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I missed you, you know," she whispered to him.

"I missed you too, my naurenniel," he agreed, placing a light kiss on top of her head.

Narylfiel's heart twisted painfully at a truth she had come to realize long ago. She loved him, of that she was certain.

Only he would always see her as child, at most a friend.

She closed her eyes. She could faintly hear his heart beat.

This would have to be enough.

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em> Okay... So let me know your thoughts, of course! I am very interested in what you have to say about the time period, during the War, and the character pairing with Thranduil and of course, his characterization.

Please review and give this story a much needed boost of 'Reviewing Power' awesomeness.


	3. Cherished

**Thank you to all my dear readers who reviewed so far: Oriana5, IAmAFantasyFan, gginsc, Wunderkind4006, alexma, arwegornandfeowyn, FebruarySong, Rousdower, Sakimi1014, and AdalineXC! Thank you for boosting my story 'Review Power!' (and making me feel special).**

_Kingsfoil_

Chapter 2: Thankful

_300 years ago…_

_Narylfiel studied herself in the full length mirror in her sister's room where for the past hour, Thaliniel and her attendants had been brushing and braiding her chestnut brown hair into a soft fall of curls. Gone was the wide-eyed elfling that first came to these halls, and in her place stood a tall, confident elleth. She gave the mirror her best confident smile. Well, at least Narylfiel hoped she exuded confidence. _

_To say that she was excited about the evening's feast for her coming of age celebration would be a vast understatement. She had been looking forward to this evening ever since last year's name day. Her father and aunt had already come up from his vineyard for the festivities and planned on staying for a fortnight to see her induction into the Forest Guard. _

_She and King Thranduil had planned all the details together. At first, she had been pretty surprised to learn of Thranduil's secret love of planning events; he usually chose all the details for the feasts and dances at the palace, letting most people believe that his chief of staff Galadhor handled the arrangements. But since Narylfiel shared the king's love of planning and plotting, they had become even closer, bonding over long afternoons as they pored over menu choices and carefully plotted seating arrangements for the feast._

_The door opened behind her, and Narylfiel quipped, "Did you get lost again?" Thaliniel was supposed to be back half an hour ago. _

"_A king never gets lost," Thranduil answered in that deep voice of his._

_Narylfiel turned around with a grin. "I thought you were my sister!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. _

"_Now, I have not been mistaken for anyone's sister in a very long time," he teased, not that anyone would really mistake him for an elleth tonight. Even though Narylfiel had grown much over the years, he still stood a good head and then some over her, and tonight he looked impossibly regal and broad-shouldered in his tailored to perfection silvery tunic._

"_Well, what do you think?" she asked and curtsied in her long gown, made to the latest style. _

_The king stepped back and appeared to appraise her very seriously. "Hmm… Something seems to be missing," he concluded. _

_Narylfiel's head snapped toward the mirror. "What?" she asked, paranoia creeping into her voice. She thought she looked decent, but surely the king would know better!_

"_Some jewelry, perhaps?" suggested Thranduil, and he pulled from his pocket a lustrous circle of gold and white gems. "May I?" he asked._

_Narylfiel could hardly nod; she was so overcome with delight and surprise at his generosity. _

"_Legolas, your sister, and I-we are all just so very proud of what you have become, Narylfiel," he told her as he placed the necklace around her neck. "You have grown into a truly lovely young lady, and I am very thankful for the day you came to my halls."_

"_Oh, Thranduil," Narylfiel started but felt her eyes tearing up at his admission. "I—"_

_He pulled her into a slight hug, careful not to muss her dress. "No tears, Narylfiel, for tonight will prove to be the most glorious name day celebration you've had yet!" he promised her. _

"_Thank you, my king," said Narylfiel, still feeling a little misty-eyed. "Thank you for everything, Thranduil—for putting up with all my silliness, for letting me visit you all those times in your study when I was little, when I must have been quite a nuisance to you!"_

"_Never," he declared solemnly and caught a stray tear on her cheek and lifted it off with his finger. "Well…maybe there were a few times…" he deadpanned, but his eyes were merry._

"_Hmph!" protested Narylfiel, and she turned for a second to admire the necklace in the mirror. Then, without thinking, she reached for his hand, and held it in both of her own. The king looked a little surprised, but did not pull away. His hand, so much larger than her small ones, was warm and slightly callused from years of weapons training. She met his gaze and held it. "I mean it, Thranduil. You may be the king, but you always, always made me feel important in my own right. So, thank you. For being my friend."_

_Thranduil smiled broadly, a rare thing, for the gesture lit up his entire face. Then he offered her his arm to escort her to the party, and she took it proudly. _

_Whether it was his intention to or not, the King of the Woodland Realm made Narylfiel feel beautiful, cherished. On turning to leave, she glanced quickly at their reflection together in the mirror, and her breath caught in her throat a little; it was an image she would not soon forget, one that her thoughts would often trail back to over the coming days. _

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><p>July 3018<p>

Narylfiel moved quietly down the corridors of the palace to her room, which was at the beginning of the royal family's wing; she guessed the more important you were, the further down the hall your room was. King Thranduil's suite of private rooms was located at the far end of the hall; the prince's was on the opposite side. Plain old sisters to the princess did not rate very highly, she supposed. Her room was right by the entrance, and that suited Narylfiel just fine. She did not have to walk as much to get there! And even though she had lived with the royal family ever since Thaliniel had married Legolas, sometimes she still could not believe that she was actually living in the palace.

She reached her room and pulled the door shut with a sigh. Narylfiel rethought her conversation with the king upon her return. Sometimes it was just easier to be away from him. When she was out on patrol with the guards, she had plenty to occupy her mind. Keeping busy had become her salvation. She had begun to sign up for as many patrols as she could, often taking the longest missions or volunteering for the most remote locations. Legolas had noticed, of course, but he had yet to say anything, as her brother-in-law or the Captain of the Guard for that matter.

Her sister was a different story. Thaliniel had pulled Narylfiel aside after she had served five weeks in a row guarding the border.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" her sister had asked about her lengthy absence, concern written in her eyes. Narylfiel knew Thaliniel had her best interests at heart, but she could not bring herself to tell her the real reason.

She was desperately trying to avoid Thranduil, and oh, by the way, it might just be because she had loved him for years and the fact that there was nothing she could do about it made her miserable.

So Narylfiel had shrugged and told her sister nothing. Thaliniel had not pried, but Narylfiel suspected that she had taken her complaints to the prince.

Hence, her current return to the palace with no hopes of reinstatement in patrol duty until Legolas returned, Narylfiel thought gloomily. She kicked off her boots and flopped on her bed.

What she needed now was a distraction, she decided, something, anything to keep her busy. She stared at the ceiling. No, it was no good. Pointless, even. She could not even leave and return back to her patrol. With the recent threats from Dol Guldur, she knew that the king had tightened security in the palace, so simply leaving was out of the question.

She imagined herself trying to sneak out and getting caught, being summarily dragged before a disapproving Thranduil in the throne room. Oh Valar! Narylfiel rolled her eyes and then sat up.

She was being foolish. Thranduil was one of her dearest friends.

He was also her king. She counted herself extremely thankful and blessed to have the close relationship she had with him.

She peeled off her guard's uniform and threw it in the corner. Stalking over to her wardrobe, Narylfiel flung open the door with all the resolution of one determined to make a fresh start. Instead of choosing a dress though, Narylfiel peered at the mirror on the inside of the door. A messy haired, angry looking elleth stared back. When had she decided to let such bitterness take root in her heart? She frowned, then tried a small smile.

Of course, she cared for Thranduil. He had always been there for her. She reached for her warrior braids and began to undo them, strand by strand, brushing her hair until it shone again. Then she put on her favorite dress, determined to make things right.

After all, she had made dozens of happy matches for countless couples over the year. Why could she not just make one for herself?

Long had she thought of the pairing of Legolas and Thaliniel as the pinnacle of her match-making efforts, but this—if she could pull this off—this would be her greatest achievement.

Of course, Thranduil was much more shrewd and would prove infinitely more difficult to handle than easy-going Legolas had been. Thranduil would be a true challenge.

Fortunately, Narylfiel loved a challenge.

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><p>Meanwhile, Thranduil called a meeting with Galadhor, his chief of staff, and Beriadan, his senior Captain of the Guard. Both the elves arrived at the same time, slipping into the council chambers and pulling up a chair to the enormous carven table at the center of the room. Thranduil selected a map from the nearby basket and unrolled it with a flourish.<p>

"The situation has deteriorated more quickly than even I anticipated," the king said quietly.

Beriadan's mouth tightened into a grim line. He had just returned from the eastern border of the forest only hours ago and knew how dire things could become in the south.

Thranduil pushed some stone tokens onto the map. "Here, here, and here," he pointed to the southern rim, sliding the markers into place. "This is where the last attacks occurred before Legolas left. According to our scouts, the orcs' numbers are not only increasing, they are being more strategic." He frowned, and then pushed three more markers into place. "And this is where the attacks occurred in June."

The three elves stood silently, as they stared at the map on the table. "Oh, Valar," Galadhor breathed. "Are they-?" He did not finish, hoping that he had read the map wrong. After all, he administered the staffing for the palace and rarely dealt with military issues. Really, he had wondered why the king had called him to this meeting in the first place. Only now he was beginning to understand.

Thranduil nodded. "Before he left for Imladris, Legolas and I sat down together. We marked the locations of all the recent skirmishes for the past six months, and there was only one conclusion to be had," said the king as his eyes met Beriadan's.

"They are strategically testing the southern border for weaknesses in our defenses," Thranduil stated gravely. "The enemy plans to invade, perhaps even overrun the southern wood. And if that border cannot hold…"

"Then the palace will be vulnerable," gasped Galadhor.

"Which is why I summoned you, Galadhor," the king said, his eyes worried. "We must take precautions for that possibility. We need to fortify the palace in case the southern border falls. We have to be ready to defend ourselves."

"Do we have any idea of a timeline?" asked the chief of staff, thinking of all the preparations he needed to make. All the stocking up he should start in case of a blockade.

Beriadan and the king looked at each other. "We cannot know for sure," Thranduil concluded slowly. "If our defenses in the south can hold, this may not even be an issue, but it would be foolhardy to ignore this threat.

"Legolas went to Imladris for a council meeting. Lord Elrond's message all but hinted that open war may be upon us if we do not act soon. He knows how dire the threat of Dol Guldur has become," the king finished, his eyes cool.

Beriadan and Thranduil agreed to fortify the southern defenses with more warriors, and Galadhor left to discuss ordering more provisions from Dale with the kitchen staff. Just as Beriadan stepped out of the council chambers, Narylfiel poked her head through the door.

"You changed out of your uniform, I see," Thranduil noted. After much debate, Narylfiel had selected a lovely dark green gown and wore her hair down long and loose around her face, save for a few strands pulled back with a small clip given to her by Thaliniel and Legolas during the last Feast of Starlight celebration.

"It was pretty filthy," Narylfiel admitted as she slipped into the room and came to stand with the king by the map, noting the placement of the markers along the southern border.

She nudged the closest one with her finger. "I was here," she commented, looking up at Thranduil.

"I know," he told her. He slid the tokens off the map and proceeded to roll it up.

"You were meeting with Beriadan about the southern border?" she guessed, hoping that he might fill her in on what was happening.

"I was," Thranduil answered noncommittally. He dropped the rolled up map into the basket on the side table.

Narylfiel frowned. "Will Beriadan take Legolas' place commanding the southern defenses?" she asked stiffly. Could Thranduil not sense how worried she was for her friends still serving down there?

"Yes, he will, Narylfiel. That was what our meeting was about. Nothing to worry about," Thranduil said, dropping the markers into a wooden box to punctuate each of his last words.

Narylfiel stopped his hand on the last piece. "I am already worried, Thranduil," she said. "I was there for the last attacks, when we were almost overrun with orcs. I watched Faelhir get cut down by orcs only yards from me, and there was nothing I could do to save him while those _creatures_ defiled his body. So, yes—I _am_ already worried." She gestured to the tokens. "Those were all of our most recent battles, my king, but I was there!" she bit off her last word and looked away.

"Narylfiel." Thranduil reached for her shoulder, but she tugged away.

"I was there, and you had this meeting without me. I was there, but you—"

"Narylfiel, settle down," Thranduil said sternly. "You had just returned and were exhausted. Your exclusion from the meeting was not in any way a reflection on your value to me."

The elleth bristled at his tone. "If that is true, my king, then let me return to the border," she asked. "Send me back."

Thranduil turned away from her, walked across the room, and pulled the door shut. "You know that I cannot do that," he told her firmly, standing in front of the door.

She fixed him with a cold look. "You are the king, my lord. Cannot? Or will not?"

Thranduil crossed the room in two smooth steps and seized her by the shoulders. "I would not send you within a hundred leagues of the southern border right now, Narylfiel," he hissed. "It has become far too dangerous."

To her credit, Narylfiel did not flinch at his tone or from his firm grip on her upper arms. Instead, she leaned in toward him. "I can help them, Thranduil," she stated softly, eyes meeting his. "I could be of service there. Here, I am nothing. Why force me to stay?"

The king released her and stepped back, as if she had burned him, a hurt expression flashing across his face before he regained control. "Legolas feared for your safety, Narylfiel. As do I." He took a deep breath and pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Do you not realize how cherished you are? You have never, could never, be 'nothing' to us, to me." He took a long look at her and then opening the door, left.

Shaken, Narylfiel stared after him.

Being two strong-willed individuals and friends, she and Thranduil naturally had their share of disagreements in the past, but he had never laid hands on her. She knew he had a temper-so did she! But the hurt look on his face… Of course she knew that he cared about her, she never meant to imply otherwise.

She ran her fingers across the engravings on the gleaming wooden box, which held the map tokens and thought about what she had seen on that map, what had been marked on the southern border, before Thranduil had cleared it away. She knew at least five of the tokens had marked locations where the defenses had been tested by the orcs.

Narylfiel drew a startled breath as a horrible thought occurred to her, the reason why Thranduil had so adamantly refused her return to the border. She worried her lip for a second as the realization sank in—her king feared a war with Dol Guldur, and this was just the beginning.

Feeling a little dazed, she took four slow steps out of the room and eyed the hall. Thranduil was long gone, but she could guess better than most where to find him.

Narylfiel drew up her skirts and began to run. She had to know the truth.

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><p><em>Author's note: Whew. So... Please Review! As always, I value your ideas, input, and feedback! :)<br>_

_And for all you Thranduil-shippers, if you haven't seen THIS yet, look up "Thranduil Lady GaGa music video" on YouTube. Wunderkind mentioned this music video in her amazing story, _To Live Again_, (which by the way, I LOVE this story). Anyhow, this video cracked me up. I may have had to watch it multiple times (okay, more like five or ten). _


	4. Restless

**A BIG thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed _Kingsfoil_ so far! Big Hugs!  
><strong>

**Love going out to my readers who reviewed the last chapter! Nircele, Rousdower, Elsa, Annafan, Wunderkind4006, FebruarySong, AdalineXC, Sakimi1014, and Oriana5!**

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><p><em>Kingsfoil<em>

Chapter 3: Restless

_Two Weeks Ago…_

_Thranduil went over the latest reports from the Forest Guard. The enemy was moving. Ever since the attack on the woods at the end of June when Gollum had escaped, his warriors had seen a significant rise in attacks and skirmishes. _

_He sighed as he noticed Legolas' ledger of appointments for the next shift of guard duty. Narylfiel had volunteered again for another three week stint on the Southern border, where the fighting had been the worst. Thranduil flipped backward in his son's ledger to the previous month, and then the one before that. As he continued turning the pages for the last six months, his son's careful notes confirmed his suspicions. Narylfiel had been regularly taking the worst and longest duty assignments ever since the last Yule. Thranduil was at a loss to understand why. _

_He snapped the book shut and pushed his chair away from his desk, crossing his long legs as he did so. Reaching for his glass of red, Thranduil swirled the contents for a second and stared at the intricate tapestry on the opposite wall. He knew Narylfiel had many friends in the guard, and she had become extremely close to Legolas as well. He was like the older brother she never had. So she enjoyed serving in the Forest Guard, he concluded, but her schedule…that spoke of something else, some darker purpose. Something bothered her in the palace, perhaps, so she wanted to be out in the woods as much as possible. _

_She had not always been that way. Thranduil remembered how she used to love being in his halls. She used to seek him out, popping into his study, uninvited, just to tell him about her day. Then hours later, they would have to call for a tray from the kitchen, because lunch had come and gone without their realizing it. She just treated him as she would a friend, not someone's king, and frankly that in itself was pretty refreshing. Thranduil would never admit it, but he loved spending those long hours with Narylfiel, just gossiping—he could always count on her for the latest news—or planning some sort of diversion in the palace; he and she were of similar minds when it came to planning festivities. He recalled the fun they had planning the Yule feast._

_The king frowned. _

_He eyed the ledger on his desk and took a slow sip from his glass. _

_It was right after the Yule feast that Narylfiel started signing up for longer guard duties. _

_What had happened over the Yule to make her want to leave his Halls? Had someone hurt her? Thranduil wished he could call her into his study right now and grill her about it. She never could keep anything from him. Unfortunately, Narylfiel was still with the Forest Guard on the southern border of the forest, the area that had suffered the worst attacks as of late. At least, Legolas was there with her. _

_He drained the rest of his glass and stood. When she returned, he would get to the truth of the matter and fix this problem for her. After all, he was the king, was he not?_

_Besides, he missed her._

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><p>July 3018 TA<p>

Just as she expected he would be, Narylfiel found Thranduil in the stable. She had to walk all the way to the very back stalls, past the piles of fresh-smelling hay and the elegantly carved stable doors, before she found him under the flickering light of a single lantern. The king had shed his heavy robe and draped it carelessly across one of the stalls. He stood with a curry brush in one hand, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as he patiently brushed the coat of Taurion, one of the Great Elks that had long been friendly with the woodelves.

Thranduil glanced up as Narylfiel approached but continued brushing the elk with long strokes, and the elk seemed to preen with pleasure at the attention given to him by the king.

"Thranduil," Narylfiel said at last, and the king paused, but did not lift his brush from the elk's side.

"I am listening," he said finally.

"Do you…do you remember when I first came to your halls, and you brought me down here to see Beinion?" Narylfiel recalled how she had fallen in love with the baby elk that Thranduil had healed in the days before her sister and Legolas had married. She had made so many trips down to the stables that the king had finally consented and let her name him.

Thranduil set the brush down on the railing and looked at her. "I do," he said, a little curious as to where this line of conversation was heading.

"Later, you told me that you debated bringing me down here, because you didn't want me to know that his mother had been killed by spiders. You wanted to protect me then." She paused and lifted her eyes to his. "I understand that decision, but now… I am a member of the forest guard now, Thranduil."

"I still want to protect you," he answered slowly. "What king am I if I cannot keep my people safe?"

Narylfiel sighed and combed her fingers through her hair. Curse his logic and his caring heart. She could hardly fault him for it.

He took a step toward her, eyes softening. "You are like Taurion, here," he said with a wry grin as he ran his hand along the enormous elk's neck. "I had the guards find him and bring him into the stables since the increased Orc activity. He is such a wild thing, yet he consents to the will of his king. But I know that even so, his heart still longs for the woods, and it troubles me greatly that I cannot give him that freedom."

"My king," she protested with a small smile. "I am hardly an elk."

Taurion snorted indignantly and stamped his hoof. Both elves looked at him and then each other amusedly.

"Not that you aren't wonderful, Taurion," Narylfiel corrected herself, laughing.

The king caught her chin with the tips of his fingers and guided her to look up at him. "I do not think that I was wrong for being angry with you earlier, but I should not have raised my voice, Naurenniel, nor should I have dealt with you so roughly. I am sorry." His eyes were dark in the low light of the lantern.

The effect he still had over her! A little tremor worked its way through her heart. She reached up, briefly resting the tips of her fingers on his bare wrist, and then dropped her hand. "I am sorry too," she confessed. "I should not have spoken thus."

Thranduil eyed her carefully. A shadow lingered in her eyes.

"I am glad you came down here, Narylfiel, but was that the only reason?" he asked carefully. "To smooth things over between us?" Thranduil recalled when he had reviewed the prince's ledgers, had despairingly noted all those times she had volunteered for back to back patrols. He worried for her, she who had always been so joyous, such a bright spirit to him.

Narylfiel looked away, bit her lip. "I had to know, Thranduil," she said. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Are we—are we going to war? I thought about the markers on the map after you left, and—"

His eyes were weary. "Trust you to figure it out, Narylfiel. I knew I would not be able to keep this from you," the king said with a mock sigh as his long fingers worked to roll down his sleeves.

"Why not just tell me then? Do I not have your trust?" she asked, a little hurt sounding.

"You do," Thranduil told her. "Of course, you do, Narylfiel." He picked up his silvery robe and folded it over his arm. "But it was my wish that you should not have this particular worry, that your heart be free from such a burden." He patted Taurion on the side and whispered something in his ear. The elk snorted again.

"I could help you, in Legolas' place, while he is gone," she offered. She held up her hand, explaining. "I understand that you do not want me back out on the patrol, but I could help you here."

Thranduil nodded slightly. "Very well," he agreed, "but let it be known that I am a relentless taskmaster, or so my son would claim."

"No one would dare suggest otherwise, my king," she teased.

Eyes gleaming, the king led the way out of the stables. Pleased, Narylfiel followed him back into the main halls of the palace.

If she wanted to help him, he would certainly let her. In fact he would keep her so busy, she would have precious little time to worry about anything else. He could frankly use the help; preparing the palace for a possible attack was no easy matter. In the meantime, he would find out just exactly had been bothering her. All of this business about avoiding his halls would be put to rest.

Thranduil smirked a little. This was a plan that could not fail.

He could not have been more wrong.

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><p><em>Author's note: Uh oh, the plot thickens. What exactly happened at the Yule Celebration that made Narylfiel want to leave? I bet we can make some pretty good guesses who it involves, right? We may, just may, have to see a flashback on that little incident. Ideas, anyone? Do they have mistletoe in Mirkwood? I'm thinking they might. <em>

_And now, Narylfiel will be working in close quarters with the king to prepare the palace for the war looming on the horizon. _

_It's July, and the council of Elrond is fast approaching. _

_Please, Please review and favorite! I need a REVIEWS POWER BOOST on this story! ;) Because I'm all crazy and competitive like that, and it makes Thranduil happy. He refuses to have less reviews on his story, than what Legolas got in Wanderlust. Just sayin'._

_#ThranduilDemandsReviews_

_Legolas: #SoEmbarrassed_


	5. Devastated

**A BIG shout out to all of my awesome Readers who Reviewed chapter 4: ArabianNights18, Meldisil, DeathtoElves, ExmeetheHedgehog, Arwegornandfeowyn, LOTR-HP-PJ, Rousdower, Nircele, Wunderkind4006, AdalineXC, Sakimi1014, Aurelia Dresche, Oriana5!**

**Thank you!**

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><p>Chapter 4: Devastated<p>

Yule, 3017 TA

_Never before had a Yule feast been so merry or quite so loud. The king's best wine flowed steadily to every table. The fire roared bright on the enormous hearth of the banquet hall, the music piped cheerfully, and the mood was infectious. Every so often another elf would call out a toast to the elvenking. Everyone would drink to the king's honor, and Thranduil would have to drink as well._

_Even when the dancing began after dinner, the toasts to the king continued after every song. It almost became a game of sorts, and as the evening stretched on, Narylfiel noted that her king was looking just the slightest bit tipsy. Elven wine is extremely potent, and Dorwinion vintages even more so. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed. She had been contentedly watching her sister dance with Legolas, but every so often her eyes wandered to Thranduil's chair at the head of the table. She could not help herself. She just enjoyed watching him, not that it had anything to do with how regal he looked in his dark grey, sharply tailored tunic and his winter crown of evergreen sprigs and dark red berries. Of course not!_

_He caught her watching him and smiled a slow smile. The king sat his glass down and unexpectedly pushed away from the table, standing in one liquid motion. He crooked his finger at her and without waiting, moved around with the table with an easy grace, until he stood before her._

_"May I have the honor of the next dance, my lady?" Thranduil asked her, just as formal and proper as a king should, but dimples creased his cheeks._

_"I would be honored, your Majesty," she replied in kind and accepted his offered hand. Thranduil drew her into the swirling array of dancers, and Narylfiel felt like the room might just have tipped over with her in it. She tried to remind herself that this was the same elf who she considered one of her closest confidantes, her friend._

_She tried to remind herself that this was Thranduil Oropherion, her king. But in that moment, none of it mattered. He held her in his arms, his strong hands on her waist, on her back. She blushed—just no amount of will power could keep the slow rise of heat from flooding her cheeks._

_If Thranduil noticed, and surely he had, he made no mention of it. He complimented her on how well everything had turned out and how glad he was that they decided to go with the roast boar instead of pressed pheasant for dinner._

_As their dance drew to a close, he angled his head as he looked at her. "You look very beautiful tonight, Narylfiel." he told her in a conspiratorial whisper. "I have seen many a young elf's eye turn your way while we were dancing."_

_As he had done in the past, he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. After the king excused himself, Narylfiel slipped back to her seat, her mind replaying the dance, the feel of his arms, his warmth. Her thoughts wandered to what it would be like if he kissed her, really kissed her. Her head swam at the very idea, or was it from the wine?_

_Narylfiel remembered the sprig of mistletoe hanging in the archway outside the banquet hall. She had talked the king into hanging some up as a mischievous surprise for couples and would-be couples. Could she lure Thranduil underneath it tonight? The king had left the banquet hall only a moment ago. Before Narylfiel could talk her self out of the foolish notion, which she surely would have done if perhaps she had not drank that fourth or even fifth glass of wine, she hopped up from her seat and cut straight across the dance floor for the large entrance to the room._

_She did not get any farther than the doorway. She didn't need to—because from the entrance, she could spy the archway and the mistletoe._

_The sight from the door shocked her. A couple already monopolized the mistletoe, and there was no mistaking that tall head of golden hair, not to mention the tell-tale spiky crown. A dark-headed elleth had Thranduil wrapped in a passionate embrace._

_Narylfiel stood there for a second stunned into a disbelieving stupor by the horrid scene before her. Then her eyes blurred, and she fled the Yule Feast for the sanctuary of her own room. The next morning brought a bright new layer of snow to the Woodland Realm and a coolly determined young elleth left with the Forest Guard for the southern border. She did not return to the King's halls for a very long time._

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><p>November, 3018<p>

Autumn had hardened into an unseasonably cool fall, and by November, the first heavy snows had already swirled down from the Misty Mountains and blanketed the forest in an unfeeling layer of white. Legolas had not returned yet from Imladris, nor had Thranduil received any word from the prince, save for the first missive saying they had arrived in the valley safely. Now with the cold snap and the onset of early snow, the king had all but resigned himself to the fact that Legolas might not return home until Spring, when the passes thawed in the mountains.

The one bright spot in all of this, Thranduil mused, was Narylfiel. She had made good on her pledge to help him in the palace, and so far, had been markedly adept at helping Galadhor, the chief of staff, to organize and plan for a possible siege.

Thranduil had just finished an hour of hearing supplicants in the throne room, and so Narylfiel had walked with him back to the royal wing of the palace. She had plans to increase the reserve guards' training hours in preparation for an attack—"they need more combat training, King Thranduil, especially if our defenses do not hold," she concluded. Narylfiel was always very careful to address him formally when in public areas of the palace.

"I agree," Thranduil said thoughtfully. "The members of the Royal Guard could adjust their schedule to work in some training hours with our reserve members."

Narylfiel nodded, pleased that he consented to her plan so easily.

"Narylfiel," the king began, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, "Yule will be here before we know it. In spite of our current _difficulties_," he said with a frown and then continued, "I still would like to have the Yule Celebration."

Now it was Narylfiel's turn to frown. She would never openly disagree with the king in public. Privately, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. She said nothing, and as she and the king turned the corner into their wing of the palace, he gestured toward the sitting room and then pulled the door shut.

"I did not relish the thought of returning to my study for today," he explained as he pulled off his ornate outer robe and after thinking about it for a moment, pulled his crown off and dropped it on top of the robe. "We have spent too much time in there lately."

"I could ask Galion to bring some tea," suggested Narylfiel.

"No, no tea," disagreed the king. He strode over to the long side table against the back wall of the room. After a bit of looking, he selected a dark bottle with a green label. "You know, since your sister redecorated this room, I cannot seem to find anything," he complained half-heartedly as he rifled through a drawer for the corkscrew.

"She loves this room, Thranduil," Narylfiel told him. "It meant much to her that you let her redo it." She wanted to add 'because she knew that Legolas' mother had used the space as her sitting room,' but Narylfiel wisely left those words unsaid. There were some things that she and Thranduil never discussed. She moved next to him, looked for a second, and then handed him the corkscrew.

He took it from her without comment, although she could tell he was the teensiest bit annoyed that she found it so easily before he could. Thranduil opened the bottle with all the ease of one who has opened many, many bottles of wine, and poured them both a glass.

After both of them had settled into their favorite chairs in the room and Thranduil had contentedly poked the fire a few times, he returned to the subject of planning the Yule Celebration. "I would have thought that you would have been more excited about planning another party," the king told her, watching her carefully. "We had such a good time together planning last year's, and everybody seemed to enjoy themselves."

Narylfiel colored ever so slightly, but it was enough that Thranduil noticed. He prided himself on, well, a good deal many things, but being perceptive was one of them.

"What bothers you, Naurenniel?" He drew her nickname out softly, his eyes concerned.

Narylfiel looked away. "I know what you are doing, Thranduil, and it simply won't work," she told him, but her voice belied the confidence of her words. The truth was that Thranduil could always get her talking. He was very persuasive and extremely intuitive—with most things.

"Oh, come now, Narylfiel," coaxed Thranduil. "Did something happen last year at the Yule feast? Why the sudden aversion to it now?"

Narylfiel let out an unpleasant sounding snort and set her glass down. "If you do not know, then I am certainly not going to say," she retorted.

The king leaned forward in his chair and after some thought, reached forward and carefully took her hand in his own warm palm. "I reviewed the ledgers for the patrols, Narylfiel, several months ago—back when you were still guarding the border."

"It does not matter, Thranduil," she told him seriously, memorizing the way her hand felt in his.

"It matters to me," the king said quietly. "You went from being around all the time to never being home—and this sudden change in behavior seemed to coincide with the Yule feast last year?" His blue eyes searched hers.

Curse his persistence, Narylfiel thought miserably and a little angrily too. He could never leave well enough alone.

"Fine," she said at last, "if you _must_ know, it really bothered me when I saw you kissing that elleth under the mistletoe last year. I don't know why-but it just did." Of course, she really did know why, but he did not need to know it.

Thranduil dropped her hand and sat back. He rubbed his temples and tried his best to recall the fuzzy details. He _did_ remember, enough to know that it must have looked like quite a scene. And Narylfiel had seen? "It was done as a joke, Narylfiel," he told her matter-of-factly. "Rubawen pulled me under there. Did you not see both of us laugh about it afterwards?"

"It didn't seem very joke-like from where I was standing," she admitted hotly, the tips of her ears burning.

"Wait-" said Thranduil, his eyes crinkling into amusement. "Are you _jealous?"_

"What? No!" she protested, rolling her eyes. Maybe a little jealous, she thought, okay, a lot, but he did not need to know that either.

If he laughed at her, Narylfiel feared that she really might just commit regicide.

To his credit, Thranduil did not laugh. One look at his friend's drawn little face stifled any notion of doing so at once. Instead, he steepled his fingers and paused, wishing for wisdom in this moment. He took a deep breath and then directly met her eyes. "Is this why you left, Narylfiel?"

"No. Yes. Maybe," she answered, looking away.

An awkward silence blanketed the room, as awkward as any unsaid moment that ever stretched across a room in the Elvenking's halls.

Galion, the king's butler, broke the uneasy quiet by knocking quickly and then rushing into the room.

"This letter just arrived, your majesty. It's from Lord Elrond's messenger pigeons! It must be from Prince Legolas," he exclaimed excitedly.

His heart pounding, Thranduil immediately stood and took the letter, breaking the seal and turning away from the others to read it. Galion silently slipped from the room, and as much as Narylfiel wanted to seize the opportunity to sneak out as well, she just couldn't bring herself to leave. She knew how much Thranduil had longed for a letter, or any news of his son.

Thranduil felt bile rise to his throat within his first glance at the beginning lines...

_'Dear Father,_

_I wanted to write you much earlier, but Lord Elrond insisted that we send no news that might be intercepted by the enemy. I cannot tell you any specifics, but I will shortly be leaving Imladris to help Estel and Gandalf with an important task. I will be gone for some time...'_

He quickly passed the letter off to Narylfiel, who had come to stand by his side as soon as Galion left, as soon as she watched his face visibly pale in a matter of seconds.

"I need a moment," Thranduil said. His usually melodic voice sounded frail, and his hands were shaking as he went back to the side table again and this time poured himself a very stout drink. _Miruvor_. He dropped down on the settee, and Narylfiel took her place beside him. She covered his hand with her own, began to read aloud:

_'Dear Father,_

_I wanted to write you much earlier, but Lord Elrond insisted that we send no news that might be intercepted by the enemy. I cannot tell you any specifics, but I will shortly leave Imladris to help Estel and Gandalf with an important task. I will be gone for some time.'_

Narylfiel stopped and swallowed hard, her voice failing her until the king squeezed her hand. She bit her lip and then continued:

_'I know that you wished for me to return quickly, but please understand that is something I cannot do. There are things in motion, Father, which may rule the fate of us all, and if I can serve a cause that may save the lives of so many whom I hold dear, it is a risk I would take many times over. Thaliniel plans on staying in Elrond's house, for the road back home has grown too dangerous. _

_Father, I wished to tell you this in person, but time has run so short, now I fear I may never have the chance. Thaliniel is with child. She and I decided we must try shortly after Elrond's council. She could not bear the thought something happening to me. We both draw comfort in knowing that I would still be with her in some small way.'_

Narylfiel gasped, and tears swam in her eyes. She leaned against Thranduil and choked back a sob. Thranduil took the letter from her hands and finished reading, though the words came to him bitterly:

_'I know that many times in my youth you thought me impulsive, reckless. I hope you can understand now that the road I take, the choices I have made, are the result of many sleepless nights, of tortured deliberation over what is right, over what is selfless. I think of you often, and Thaliniel sends her love to her sister. _

_My heart will always belong to Mirkwood, to our people, to my king. I do this for us all._

_Your son,_

_Legolas'_

"This letter sounds like goodbye." Narylfiel's voice was muffled, her cheek pressed into the king's sleeve.

"I cannot—I just…I have nothing. There is nothing I can say," the king concluded, letting the letter drift from his grasp and onto the rug. He stared at the flames on the hearth and wished for some other alternative, or that his cares might drift away, like sparks rising with the smoke up into the night. He thought of the ships at the Grey Havens and distant green shores.

But these thoughts lasted only for the briefest of moments, for the king's eyes beheld his dear friend still by his side. A fierce light burned in her eyes, like she was willing herself not to cry in front of him. This time Thranduil did not think at all but pulled her into his embrace.

They stayed that way until the fire burned down to embers.

Neither noticed the second letter, the one that Galion had dropped in haste by the door.

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><p><em>Author's note: Oh, dear! Elrond better watch himself. When he gets past feeling worried, Thranduil is going. to. be. TICKED. Something to look forward to! So what about that 2nd letter? What could the contents be, and who will find it first? <em>

_Just a little refresher for the fans wondering about our Lord of the Rings Timeline: Council of Elrond meets on October 25. The Fellowship leaves Rivendell on December 25._

_Thranduil would like to thank everybody for the lovely reviews! He is feeling #MoreFabulousThanEver! _

_Please Review, Follow, Favorite! _

_#ElvenKingsNeedLoveToo_


	6. Furious

**Thank you to all of my wonderful Readers who Reviewed the last chapter: Crazykenz, DeathtoElves, EzmeetheHedgehog, Meldisil, TheLeadMare, ArabianNights18, LotR-HP-PJ, 77, gginsc, Arwegornandfeowyn, Sakimi1014, Rousdower, Oriana5, Nircele! Much appreciation and thanks for all the comments and love!**

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><p>Chapter Five: Furious<p>

_Three hundred years ago…_

_"I recommend Narylfiel for placement in the Forest Guard, Father," Legolas said and pushed forward his list of candidates for the king's approval._

_Thranduil looked up from his desk, clearly surprised. "I thought you said she would not be ready for placement until next year."_

_"That was last year," Legolas said patiently. "In all fairness, she has become one of our best new recruits. Whatever she lacks in strength, she makes up for in tenacity."_

_The king reached for his royal seal and a stick of dark green sealing wax. He would mark each commission thus, recognizing and honoring the new warrior's commitment to serve the kingdom. He marked the first four without a second thought, but when he reached Narylfiel's, his hand faltered._

_He sat the seal down while Legolas eyed his hesitance with a certain degree of impatience. Thranduil neatly placed her commission to the side while he finished stamping the others. Once finished, he slid hers before him again but did not move to pick up the sealing wax. Instead, he rolled the seal back and forth in his open palm and asked his son, "Legolas, is she truly ready to serve?"_

_"I would never have recommended her service if she had not been up to the task," said the prince with an aggrieved look._

_"I trust your judgment, of course, son," the king said, but he made no motion to pick up the seal. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Narylfiel is still very young, impetuous."_

_"Father, do not—" Legolas stopped himself and tried a different approach. "I know that you care about her deeply. We all do. Thaliniel has her own doubts as well, but we both believe that Narylfiel should have the opportunity to prove herself."_

_Thranduil nodded reluctantly. "I know she is capable. I have watched her on the practice field myself, yet I find myself hesitant to let her go in harm's way."_

_Softly smiling, Legolas rolled the sealing wax to his father. "If you remember, you were the same way with me."_

_"I cannot help but want to protect those that I love," acknowledged Thranduil, his eyes unapologetic. He knew he tended to be over-protective, especially with Legolas. He had kept his own son from joining the guard for four hundred years, and that respite had only ended after Legolas ran away from home, coincidentally meeting Thaliniel, and of course, her sister._

_"Narylfiel is extremely fortunate to have the king of the Woodland Realm looking out for her best interests," Legolas pointed out, "even if she may not always see it that way."_

_The king met his son's eyes and smiled wryly. They both knew Legolas spoke of himself._

_Thranduil took the sealing wax, heated the stick over the candle on his desk and dripped the wax onto the parchment. He quickly pressed his royal seal into the wax, before he could think better of it._

_"Keep her close, son. Keep her safe," advised Thranduil, and Legolas nodded his agreement and then left with the commissions to be awarded in the induction and oath ceremonies to take place later that week._

_With Legolas gone, Thranduil's smile faded. He could not imagine how dull the palace would become when she eventually left. Over the years, he had become accustomed to her bright smile teasing him not to take himself too seriously, her sense of fun and humor—her companionship._

_"She makes me feel young again," Thranduil realized aloud, to no one but himself. Then he rose from his desk, poured himself a very full glass of a particularly dark red wine, and left his study, taking the wine with him on the way. He would go to the shooting range and work out some of his frustration. Yes, that was the very thing!_

_And if a certain young Forest Guard initiate happened to be there, well, that was just a happy coincidence._

* * *

><p>November, 3018<p>

Thranduil had left a long time ago, and even though Narylfiel had assured him she was on her way to bed, she felt too empty and useless to do anything. After she watched him go, Narylfiel did not have the energy to leave, so she stayed on the settee, staring at the cold remnants of coals on the hearth. She curled up on one end; she could still smell his lingering scent on the cushions, on her own clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would find no rest here, no rest in these early hours of the dawn.

What was she doing? What was she doing with him? Torturing herself, Narylfiel mused, and why did she ever say anything to him about the Yule kiss? She shook her head at herself and walked numbly toward the door when her eyes spied a scrap of parchment by the door.

It was a note, one from Lord Elrond, asking that Thranduil send a messenger to deliver the enclosed letter to Dain of Erebor. Without thinking, Narylfiel scanned the contents of the letter; Elrond was sure that Sauron planned to move his forces in Dol Guldur to take control of the Rhovanion. Thranduil needed to act quickly to rally the forces between elves, men, and dwarves; they would need a strong alliance to stem Sauron's forces in the East.

Narylfiel's hand shook as she held the note—the king must have missed it, or dropped it in his haste to read Legolas' letter. From what she gathered in Elrond's message to the king, an attack was imminent. War was coming.

As she stood there sort of half-trembling from the realization that they had been right about the orcs attacking and the certainty of war, Thranduil breezed in through the doorway, giving her a sharp look.

"Narylfiel, I thought you said you were going to bed," he said sternly. He purposefully headed toward the chair where he had left his robe and crown and picked them up, folding the robe over his arm. He gently placed the crown back on his head as though it pained him to do so.

"I was on my way," Narylfiel protested weakly, "but then I found this letter from Elrond for you by the door."

Thranduil became very still, and for some instinctual reason, Narylfiel's hair rose on the back of her neck.

"Elrond…" Thranduil repeated quietly. He pursed his lips.

Now, Narylfiel always knew the Elvenking had a horrible temper, one of legend in other elven realms. Most times, he did a remarkable job of maintaining an affable, pleasant demeanor, and in spite of some very difficult circumstances too! But every once in a while, she had been privy to seeing Thranduil lose his temper, and the resulting tumult had been intimidating, frightening.

So when Thranduil pounced on the letter and tore it from her hands, Narylfiel let him have it.

Eyes flashing, the king then read the note, right before he crumpled it up and shot it into the fireplace.

"Thranduil!" Narylfiel exclaimed. "It seemed like Elrond—"

He turned on her. "Do not speak his name to me! That so-called Lord of Imladris, who thinks he can impose himself on me, on my kingdom, on my only son and heir?"

"I can understand that you are upset with him," Narylfiel began soothingly, "but his concerns seemed valid, Thranduil!"

"His concerns!" scoffed the king, crossing his arms and scowling. "I care not for _his concerns_. He is a meddlesome interloper, always has been! He would use my kingdom, our people, as a shield to protect his precious Imladris."

"But Thranduil—all those people in Dale, in Erebor! Should we not warn them?"

"I have risked enough of my blood on Elrond's foolish schemes and errands," he retorted.

Now, here is a fine example of how it is never good to try and talk logic to someone who has lost all sense and decency to anger and frustration. At this point, Narylfiel should have just left Thranduil alone and walked away. She would have had much better fortune convincing him of her point after he had a chance to cool his temper.

Unfortunately, Narylfiel did not leave the room. Instead, she steeled her gaze at him and said resolutely, "I will deliver the message, Thranduil. Send me."

The king narrowed his eyes at her. "I would not send you, Narylfiel, not if you were the last guard in Mirkwood."

She huffed indignantly. "I am one of the better and lighter riders in your stable,_ your highness. _You have said so yourself!"

"That is immaterial at the moment, because no rider is leaving these halls," the elvenking snapped at her. "Do not argue with me, Narylfiel," he warned her.

"Someone must," she declared firmly. "You are just being stubborn about Elrond! Why will you not see reason?"

"You are still my subject, Narylfiel," he reminded her, scathingly. "And right now you are acting like a petulant child. You know nothing of the politics between my kingdom and Elrond's."

"I would rather be considered a child than one so ancient that he has lost touch with the living world around him, _Your Majesty_!" she fired back, incensed. "You are worse than the dwarves—hiding out in your palace, caring for no one's troubles save your own."

Thranduil's eyes widened at the insult, and somehow Narylfiel let her own temper get the better of her. All the times he had hurt her, unintentionally or not, tore in her heart like a reopened wound. She just could not stop herself.

"At least Legolas has integrity! At least he cares enough about others to try and help!" she added, the horrid words pouring from her lips before she could stop herself.

The king's mouth opened and for a second, she could see the full measure of hurt in his eyes, but that was only for a moment. He drew himself up and pointed a regal finger at her. "_You_ are not going anywhere. _You_ will never go. _You_ can stay here until you…grow up!"

"I—I cannot stay here with you anymore," she cried, angrily throwing her hands up. "I cannot take being around you another day!"

Thranduil took two steps toward her and leaned in, eyes glinting dangerously. "Why, Narylfiel? I thought you longed for my company and were even jealous of my kisses."

She flinched, backed away from him, hissed, "Don't flatter yourself. I would sooner kiss an orc."

An indefinable muscle ticked in his jaw. "That can be arranged," he seethed.

For the first time in their argument, her eyes began to glisten. He gave her one long look and then swept haughtily from the room.

"I hate him," she muttered, just to herself. Then she cut her eyes to the fireplace where Thranduil had chunked Elrond's letter. Narylfiel drew a quick breath to steady herself, and then she knelt down at the hearth and pulled the parchment from the cold ashes. She dusted off her fingers on her clothes and stared at the letter in her hand.

She would deliver the message herself, regardless of the consequences.

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><p><em>Author's note: Ouch. I'll admit that fight hurt a little to have to write. As always, I would love to hear your comments! <em>Please Review, Favorite, and Follow! <em>_

_Is anyone ready to take sides in the Thranduil vs. Narylfiel argument? The Elvenking is not used to having someone actually argue back...  
><em>

_Thranduil: #ElvenKingIsAlwaysRight_


	7. Abandoned

**Shout-out to all of my Favorite Readers who reviewed the last chapter: ArabianNights18, Nircele, Death to Elves, 'guest,' Wunderkind4006, Arwegornandfeowyn, BethRodrigues77, Oriana5, AdalineXC, and Sakimi1014. **

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><p>Chapter Six: Abandoned<p>

_Three Hundred Years ago…_

_She had left before dawn with Legolas, for he had promised to teach her how to track in the forest. Now it was well past midday, and the pair of them perched high in a beech tree, their lithe legs dangling from the branches as they shared a snack of apples and cheese that Narylfiel had thought to sneak away from the kitchens. _

"_Tell me, Legolas," she said after a bite. "Tell me what your mother was like." She was not afraid to ask Legolas about Thranduil's long missing wife. It was a sensitive topic, to be sure, but Legolas had become a friend, an ally, a mentor even. They had bonded over archery practice and knife work. He teased her good-naturedly like she thought an older brother might._

_Legolas' bright blue eyes widened, and he almost dropped the apple that he was trying to peel in one long twisting peel. She had caught him off-guard with the question, not that he minded. He had spoken of his mother to Thaliniel and was honestly surprised the topic had not come up before with Narylfiel until now. _

"_What do you want to know?" he asked her, trying to read her a little from the corner of his eye._

"_What was she like? What did she do?" was Narylfiel's automatic response, although the much desired 'Why did she leave?' stuck in her throat, unsaid._

_Legolas sliced off a bit of apple and popped it into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. "She was very beautiful. She had silvery fair hair and grey eyes; her father had been an advisor to my grandfather. Both their fathers had encouraged the match in the years before the Battle of Dagorlad. Oropher wanted to see his son settled down. Thranduil, of course, complied with his father's wishes."_

_Narylfiel snorted. "I have a hard time believing that," she said. The Elvenking struck her as anything but compliant._

_Legolas grinned. "So do I, but that's how he tells it."_

_She shook her head disbelievingly and took the slice of apple he offered her._

"_My mother loved music; she loved to sing. She played the harp," Legolas told her, looking at the peeled apple in his hand, taking another careful slice. "She liked to sew and embroider." He lifted his eyes to meet hers. _

"_Those…those are nice hobbies," Narylfiel suggested pleasantly. "Very courtly," she added for good measure._

_The prince crooked an eyebrow at her. "Elarien," he said of the queen, not bothering to call her 'mother,' "she and my father had very little in common."_

"_I didn't know," Narylfiel admitted quietly._

"_Even so," Legolas continued, taking the last piece of apple and splitting it with his companion, "her leaving the Greenwood devastated my father. I think he took it as a personal failure. You know how he is."_

_She did know. She nodded sadly and reached for his hand. "I am sorry, Legolas." And she was equally sorry for Thranduil, whom she knew had a sensitive heart hidden beneath his kingly glamour._

_He patted her hand and then smiled wryly. "He is happier now than I have seen him in many years, Narylfiel, since you and your sister have joined our family. Just don't try and leave," he joked. "You know how upset he gets when I even mention the idea of trying to go somewhere!"_

"_I won't, Legolas," she told him seriously, gazing with rapt eyes at the forest canopy before her. "Why would anybody ever want to leave all this?"_

November, 3018:

The cheerful tinkle of china and soft murmuring voices abruptly halted when a stormy-eyed King Thranduil thundered into the dining room for breakfast. He offered no greetings and reservedly took his seat at the head table, declining Galion's offer to make him a plate. He bypassed his usual favorite confections in favor of some bland herbal tea.

Thranduil had a horrid headache, the sort born from a sleepless, wretched night when the morning did not seem to promise any improvement. In truth, the king had been more than a little upset about his disagreement with Narylfiel last night. At first he had been bitterly angry over her complete lack of respect for his title and having the temerity to argue with him in the first place. How dare she!

But as the hours passed, several hours in which no amount of wine seemed to help his roiling stomach and tightly wound nerves, Thranduil reflected that perhaps he deserved the full measure of her censure. He had taken his anger at Elrond out on her, which had been completely unjustified.

He stopped his butler as he passed by with a tray, "Galion, has Narylfiel already attended breakfast?"

"No, King Thranduil. I have not seen her this morning," Galion answered with a frown.

It was not like Narylfiel to miss breakfast ever. She was avoiding him. Probably pouting in her room this very moment, Thranduil decided. Still… As he sipped his tea and remembered their fight, Thranduil regretted his actions, his words.

He had let his temper completely run away with him. Her words had wounded him, so he had belittled her, mocked her.

He would not blame her if she despised him. He despised himself. He squashed down the mental image of her eyes and long lashes wet with unshed tears and pushed his teacup away. Beyond any considerations of who was right or wrong about Elrond's blasted letter, he should never have spoken to her so cruelly. Even if she had acted wrongly, he was the king, and as such should have acted more wisely.

Thranduil stopped Galion again a few minutes later. "Did she call for a tray from the kitchen?'

"I don't believe so, your majesty, but I will inquire directly," Galion answered and went to the kitchens. He returned only moments later after having spoken with the cook and baker, neither of whom had seen Narylfiel that morning.

Thranduil stood, not sure why he had come down to the dining room in the first place. His appetite was nonexistent. Perhaps Narylfiel had skipped breakfast for the same reason. Even if she did not want to see him, he thought he would check on her to make sure she was well.

First he looked for her on the archery range, remembering all the times he had found her practicing her aim on the cross-field targets, but Narylfiel was not there. Next he peeked into the sitting room where they had their fight last night, nor was she there. The fire and sconces were still unlit. His eyes lingered on the hearth for a second. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized that Elrond's letter was no longer interred in the fireplace, where he had disposed of it last night. Thranduil quickly crossed the room, his eyes scanning the fireplace, the burnt down logs, ashes. He leaned in closer. The letter was gone.

Thranduil's head gave one painful throb as he stood back up. He swallowed hard, glancing around the room. He expressly forbade her leaving. She wouldn't have, would she?

Thranduil took two steps toward the door and stopped. He recalled with perfect memory the fervid disgust on her face as she had vehemently declared that she would sooner 'kiss an orc.'

Oh, Valar, he thought and reached for the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. She left. She took that letter and left.

Thranduil gripped the edge of the chair as his heart plummeted and then painfully squeezed itself into a thousand tiny knots. In the next moment he dashed from the sitting room down the hall to Narylfiel's chambers.

He pounded on the door with four swift knocks. Then without waiting any further, he swung the door open. The room was dark, again the fire and sconces unlit. Her bed was neatly made, unslept in, undisturbed. Thranduil paused for a moment at the threshold, weighing his next move, waiting, and then he charged in, pulling open her armoire to see if her traveling clothes were there, checking her cabinet for her weapons' case. Empty. Her knives—weapons he had given her!—were gone. Her bow and quiver, missing.

Thranduil pressed his hand to his head, reeling from a poisonous combination of all the wrong sort of feelings—despair, worry, rage. He desperately cast his eyes around the room one more time. The ring he gave her years ago for her name day celebration gleamed on her dresser. She never took that ring off, unless going on guard duty. Thranduil strode over to the dresser, picked it up, held it cool and tiny in his hand, and then pocketed it. He could not have said why, but it was hers, something of hers that he had given her.

Then his eye caught on her old, tattered stuffed rabbit sitting on the mantle piece; the animal was one of her few possessions that she had brought with her as a child when she had come to live in the palace. She was so young. How many times had he seen her cart that ratty thing around? But even then, she had defended that rabbit's presence to him when he had pointed out its shortcomings and even offered to replace it. She had never been cowed by him, had never been intimidated by his crown.

She was so dear to him.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Thranduil backed out of her room and headed to his study, where he was sure that a glass of wine might just be the thing to rinse the horrible taste out of his mouth. On his way there, he made two decisions: first, that he would send some guards to track her and hopefully bring her back, and second, that Narylfiel would have to deal with the natural consequences of her actions. He cannot show favoritism if she willfully broke his commands.

The king had just sorted out an appropriate vintage and glass when Beriadan entered the study.

"Ah, Captain," the king addressed him, "perfect timing. I was just about to call for you."

"Then you have heard already?" Beriadan replied, his expression puzzled.

"Heard what?" countered the elven king, setting down the bottle to give the Captain of the Forest Guard his full attention.

"Orcs broke through the southeastern edge last night and may be skirting around the outer edge of the forest toward Dale," Beriadan informed him. He approached the large map on the king's desk and drew a line with his finger, explaining the direction of their path. "With our losses on the southern border, we could not eliminate the entire group, your Majesty."

His dread redoubling, Thranduil eyed the map. The suggested route of the orcs led straight to Dale, and straight to Erebor, right where Narylfiel undoubtedly planned on going.

The king met Beriadan's eyes and cleared his throat. "Narylfiel left last night," he said and clarified, "to deliver a message to Dale."

Beriadan's eyes widened. "She will be caught right in their path, with no warning!"

The king's mouth tightened into a worried line. "She must be warned, Captain."

"I will send our fastest rider, but if she had a head start, there will be little chance of catching her! Not if she took the eastern path," Beriadan said and motioned for the guards at the door to enter.

Thranduil dropped his head at the futility of the situation and stared at the map of his realm. In the background, he could hear Beriadan giving orders to the guards. He half-listened and traced the dark line of the eastern path with his thumb. As king, he knew the forest, its paths and woods, like no other, save perhaps his son.

"No, wait," Thranduil held up his hand, interrupting Beriadan's directions to the guards. He looked up at his Captain, and the king's eyes were dangerous. "I will go. I can ride Taurion and cut through the corner of the forest, head her off." He snapped out an order to one of the guards to hurry to the stable and ready the great elk. Then he quit the study, moving quickly toward his chambers, leaving Beriadan to hurry behind him.

"But, your Majesty!" objected Beriadan weakly. "Could I not go in your place?"

The king stopped mid-stride and gave his Captain an impatient look. "I appreciate your concern, Beriadan, but you know very well that Taurion will not consent to anybody riding him except myself. "I will find Narylfiel. I will bring her back."

Beriadan frowned. "At least let me send a contingent of Royal Guards behind you," he bargained. The king's safety was his upmost responsibility!

"Agreed," said Thranduil. He moved with a focused intensity into his chambers and very quickly changed into traveling clothes, his well-worn riding boots, and a dark green cloak. Galion appeared with a travel bag, for Beriadan must have informed him of the king's purpose.

He cast his crown onto his bed without a second glance. Minutes later Thranduil had gathered his own weapons, a peerless knife at his belt and his sword. He picked up his bow and quiver from Galion on his way out the door.

Only a few subjects saw their elven king leave the palace that day. His face was cold and resolute, deadly. He reached the stables and only after whispering softly in the ear of his old friend, Thranduil mounted the elk and charged out of the stables in a blur of brown fur and antlers.

Taurion and Thranduil plunged into the shadows, both pairs of their keen eyes adjusting to the low light, and the elk's feet were sure and nimble. Thranduil pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide his bright hair in the dim of the woods. Before they left the royal stables, he had asked, and Taurion had quietly agreed; they would not stop until they found Narylfiel.

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><p><em>Author's note: Alright! *rubs hands together eagerly* Finally, I've got the pair of them out of the palace and into the wild. Who's ready for adventure and some serious peril?! With maybe a dash of orcs?<br>_

_And you know I just had to get Thranduil on the elk. _

_#AllAboardThePartyElk_

_Thranduil: #SizeDoesMatter_

_Legolas: He means the elk! Right, dad? Right?!_

_Thranduil: *winks*_

**Please help give Kingsfoil a STATS BOOST- Review, Favorite, Follow! _ *Hugs!*_**


	8. Stricken

**A BIG Thanks to all my Awesome Readers who reviewed the last chapter: ArabianNights18, ArwegornandFeowyn, The Lead Mare, Rousdower, Meldisil, Anarsil, Crazykenz, Nowa1, Oriana5, Wunderkind4006, AdalineXC, Sakimi1014, DeathtoElves, Nircele, BethRodriguez77! You are the Greatest!  
><strong>

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><p>Chapter Seven: Stricken<p>

_Two hundred years ago…_

_Narylfiel raced across the bridge, not even bothering to dismount before the massive gates of the palace, but she had a good reason for her haste._

"_Quickly open the doors!" she cried to the guards. "Prince Legolas has been wounded!"_

_The elf in question leaned against her sickly, his face a drawn shade of grey. Later, Narylfiel confessed that she would never know how she had managed to hold onto him long enough to make it back to the palace._

_The guards swung open the heavy doors, and Narylfiel thundered into the palace, still hanging onto the prince, on her horse. "Get the king!" she called out._

_The injury had started innocently enough, a shallow cut on the prince's side from an orc ambush, but Narylfiel was almost certain that the blade had been poisoned. In the two days' ride from their post to the palace, Legolas had become disoriented, nauseous, and then finally incoherent._

_More guards appeared in seconds and helped both elves down from the horse. They quickly placed the prince on a litter and rushed him to the Healing Ward. Narylfiel caught sight of Galadhor and shouted to him, "Send for Thaliniel!" She could not bring herself to say that Legolas might be dying. He had survived worse injuries. He could survive this. _

_Thranduil met them in the healing room. He had already dispensed with his royal robes and crown and hurriedly rolled up his sleeves. He motioned for the healers to bring forth a steaming, fragrant bowl. Athelas._

_The king deftly cut away the fabric from his son's injury, and taking a fresh strip of linen, began to clean around the darkly puckered cut. _

"_Oh, Legolas," he murmured, reaching into the bowl for some of the silvery herbs. He squeezed out the extra water and then began to make a poultice to pack into the wound._

_Narylfiel watched, transfixed. She knew that the healers occasionally called upon Thranduil to consult with him about certain, dire cases, but this was a side of the king she had never before seen. He was so tender with his son, so gentle._

_Legolas moaned briefly as the king placed the poultice onto the wound and began to chant. His voice soft and stirring, Thranduil invoked the Valar, he called out to Legolas' fea, he spoke words of healing and peace. _

_Hoping she would not be asked to leave, Narylfiel pressed herself against the wall nearest the door, trying to make herself invisible; she could not look away, not from Thranduil, not from Legolas, fighting for his life. She knew that Thranduil was a powerful elf lord, she had seen him become death on the battlefield to every enemy in his path, but this—this was an unknown to her, a magic so deep and real, the power of a true king to heal those he loved most. So it was that when Thaliniel finally hurried breathlessly into the room, Narylfiel caught her in her arms; tears streamed down the cheeks of the younger elleth's face. _

_Thaliniel's eyes automatically went to the prone figure on the raised bed in the room. "Is he? Is he…?" She could not bring herself to put words to the fear in her heart._

_Narylfiel hugged her all the tighter. "No, Thaliniel. No!" she exclaimed, trying to smile through her tears. "He is going to be all right. Thranduil brought him back. Legolas is going to live."_

_Thranduil turned from his son at the sound of their voices and guided Thaliniel to the bedside. "He rests now, but it would be best if you were here when he wakes," he said tiredly, pushing an unsteady hand through his hair._

_Narylfiel concernedly reached for the king's shoulder as she followed him out of the room. "What about you?" she asked quietly. "You seem exhausted."_

_He half-laughed. "So I am, a little," he confessed. "That sort of healing…" his voice trailed away as his eyes glanced back through the doorway at his son, Thaliniel now by his side holding one of his hands and brushing the hair from the prince's forehead._

_Later that evening only after Narylfiel convinced Thranduil to go down to the kitchens with her for some much-needed sustenance, they sat ensconced in a tiny little table tucked snugly away in the corner by the stove. Finding himself suddenly ravenous, Thranduil wolfed down a pot pie and two glasses of milk as he tried to find words for how he had healed Legolas. That sort of healing, he explained, physically drained the healer because he had to search out the injured person's fea and forge enough of a bond that he could use some of his own energy and strength to help draw out the poison. It was exhausting. Legolas had actually been an easier case, because he already shared a parent bond with him. _

"_But if you hadn't shared a bond with him?" Narylfiel asked._

_Thranduil set down his fork. "It would have been much more difficult, and afterwards—the bond lingers. I can feel what they're feeling, and at worse it can be very painful, or at best, awkward."_

"_You have a strong bond with Legolas. I can tell," she said. _

"_Oh, I don't know, Narylfiel," Thranduil said amusedly, his mouth curving into a smile. "I know you've always claimed a sense about these things, but…it seems pretty far-fetched." Sometimes he just liked to rile her up a little, just to see her reaction._

"_I can tell," she repeated herself emphatically. "What about all those matches I have made?" she protested, beginning to sound indignant. _

"_Oh, I will agree you have made more than your fair share of matches over the years," he conceded and then added, his eyes twinkling, "but that could be attributed to lucky guesses."_

_She gazed at him seriously, and the king could tell she was thinking. Then she smiled triumphantly and asked him, "How do you know that tunic goes with those pants or your robe for that matter?"_

_The king glanced at what he was wearing. "The colors coordinate," he answered breezily. _

"_Yes, but how do you know which colors coordinate? How can you tell what goes with what, or what combination looks nice together?" Narylfiel clarified._

"_Oh," he solemnly answered, rather enjoying her earnest expression. He adopted a wounded look. "Are you trying to tell me that my clothes do not match?"_

_She punched him the arm. "Thranduil! You know that you always look impeccable. What I meant was that just like you can tell which fabrics and colors go well together, I can tell the same thing about people, about whom would pair well."_

_They spent the rest of the evening discussing new possible couples that they could arrange, and Narylfiel was happy to take the king's mind off of Legolas' injury. _

_Narylfiel never mentioned what she had observed about the king himself. Thranduil's bond with Legolas was the only one she sensed the king had. His fea held only traces of a marriage bond, a lingering remnant, a scar._

_What had happened to him?_

* * *

><p>November, 3018:<p>

The eastern paths from the Elven King's halls were not what they once were, mused Narylfiel, as she and her horse expertly navigated their way along the often leaf-covered stones. The air was so close, so thick. She could tell it was going to snow again, and soon. At least the overhead foliage provided enough cover that her path remained relatively dry. For now.

Despite her grim surroundings, Narylfiel relished being out in the woods again, free from her king's halls once more. She had tried her best not to think too much about their fight from last night, or of Thranduil, the inconsiderate…jerk.

And that was putting it nicely, in her mind.

Oh, who was she fooling? Certainly, not herself. She actually felt badly for him. Even if he had been horrible, she still cared about him, and she should never had attacked his personal character.

He just made her so angry.

Still…

There were no excuses for how she had spoken to him that night, whether he deserved it or not. She would have to apologize to him when she returned. He would probably toss her in the dungeons. She wondered if the king had discovered her absence yet. Perhaps she would be better off trying to stay with the dwarves, if they would let her. Narylfiel tried to imagine herself making friends with dwarves and fitting right in and ended up laughing out loud.

The peal of her laughter echoed through the still trees, and somewhere, out of sight, a few crows cawed and swooped down from their branches. So much for stealth. She patted her horse and refocused her attention on the path. She had made good time so far, and…

A distant howl interrupted her thoughts. Her horse nervously pricked his ears.

Wolves, she thought. Although they usually did not venture this far east; they feared the woodsmen from Dale. The wolves posed no real threat to her.

The tenor of the last howl did not ring true.

Her horse skittered, and Narylfiel's head snapped toward the sound of a third howl, closer than before. She could not see as far in the gloom of the forest, but something was out there.

And that something was most definitely _not_ a wolf.

Now, what Narylfiel would have really liked do would have been to turn her horse around and directly investigate those mysterious howls, but instead she remembered the letter tucked into her vest and kept on the path. She whispered to her horse that they needed to move much, much more quickly.

She had a horrible hunch that those howls had belonged to wargs.

She tightly gripped her horse with her legs as they flew down the path while her hands busily checked her weapons and restrung her bow. She would not be caught off-guard. Still Narylfiel wanted to gain as much distance toward Dale as she could.

Her eyes darted toward the left as she heard the close crack of a branch. Impossible, she thought. There was no way that those beasts could have gained so much ground and so quickly. Unless, and here is the moment in her journey that Narylfiel first regretted leaving the Elvenking's halls, unless those foul creatures had been tracking her all along.

She was being hunted.

Narylfiel leaned closer to her horse and kept her eyes scanning the foliage all around her. If she rode into a trap, she at least wanted to be prepared.

Sooner than expected, she heard the sound of heavy footfalls following her. She gripped her bow tightly and then right as she neared a bend in the path, she swung around in her saddle and expertly fired an arrow toward the enormous warg gaining behind her.

She never saw the second warg coming. The foul beast had been hiding just around the corner, where a large outcropping of thorny bushes obscured the turn of the path. The warg slammed into her horse.

Narylfiel's head snapped back from the impact, and she lost her balance and tumbled over the side. She rolled to break the impact and with her next move she pulled two more arrows and nocked them, ready to fire. In the split second that the two arrows sped toward her enemies, Narylfiel sprang up. One of the arrows had struck the first warg cleanly through the eye, and she had wounded the other one.

Her sharp brown eyes hunted for her horse, but he must have reared and bolted. With hungry wargs on the prowl, she could hardly blame him, only now she was stranded. Just as she reminded herself that it could have been worse, at least six dark shapes emerged from the shadows. Orcs. A shudder crawled down her spine.

"What do we have here, boys?" one of them crowed.

Narylfiel did not wait to hear their response. She sprinted in the opposite direction, leaving the protection of the path and heading toward the deepest gloom of the woods.

As she ran for her life, leaping across over-turned logs and ducking low hanging branches, her eyes busily searched the area for any potential ground where she could surprise her enemies. She briefly contemplated climbing up one of the trees but worried about spiders and getting surrounded. No, her best bet was to stay on the ground and hopefully pick her enemies off one by one.

"Spread out! Find the she-elf!" She heard the orcs' shouting behind her. The discordant sound of two more howls meant more wargs. With their fine sense of smell, they would be much more difficult to elude, but Narylfiel could not afford to give up. She had to try. She kept on in the opposite direction, hoping at one point she could circle back to the path and find her horse.

Her heart drumming in her chest, Narylfiel flattened herself against a lichen-crusted trunk, just as an orc, dark and filthy, crashed past her. Knife drawn, she stealthily peeled herself away from her hiding place and crept up behind him. Without hesitation, she slit his throat in one quick, lethal motion. The body sank to the forest floor with a throaty gurgle.

One down, Narylfiel thought, pleased with her success.

"You'll pay for that!" a voice growled behind her, and before she could whip around, a rough claw wrapped around her arm and forcefully yanked her back.

Instinct took over.

Narylfiel lashed out with her knife, finding purchase in her attacker's side. She leveraged his grip on her arm to pull him toward her and then swung her own weight out to snap his arm. The orc broke free, cradling his ruined limb, and bared his teeth.

And he lunged for her, with all the force of a battering ram, colliding into her, tackling her to the ground, and knocking one of her knives from her hand. The other knife she kept and raked the blade across his chest as they tumbled in a blur of blood and flesh into the brambles of the forest floor. Narylfiel hit the ground hard, her breath knocked from her. Then just as quickly, she remembered her attacker and rolled over to push herself up from the ground. Her hands and the hilt of her knife were slick and dark with blood.

She heard a whine to her right side; it was the orc. His face a twisted mask of pain and misery, he thrashed to try and get to her, but a sharp branch had impaled his upper thigh. Narylfiel staggered toward him and drove her knife into his chest.

She exhaled, wiped the blood from her hands.

But all the commotion had alerted the others, and the poor elf found herself backing away from the snarling maws of two wargs. She had never seen one alive so close before, and the rancid breath and the wicked glint in their eyes was not something she would easily forget.

Staggering backwards, Narylfiel tripped over a root in the process and landed hard on her backside. She scrambled to her feet and backed right into another one of the orcs, their burly leader, who took no time in pressing the sharp tip of his blade into her side.

"Go on and move, elf," he dared her with a cruel sort of glee. "We'll see how far you can run with my blade through your gut."

Swallowing a scream, Narylfiel stiffened as he started to gouge the knife into her abdomen. The tip of the blade already burned like a flame carving through her flesh. She twisted in his grip, but he only growled and pressed the blade in further. His eyes glittered evilly. Then she watched in disbelief as her captor's arrogant expression melted away into one of fear and loathing.

An enormous elk, a Giant Elk, bounded into view, his antlers charging into the first warg. Spearing its side with brutal precision, the elk bowled over the warg, sending it shrieking into the brush.

Thranduil had come.

Narylfiel could scarcely believe her eyes, but there he was. Golden and deadly, with his eyes blazing and sword drawn, Thranduil rode upon Taurion, and together, they decimated the remaining orcs and wargs. The foul creatures were no match for the brute strength of the Giant Elk, whose razor-sharp antler points tore through his enemies, flinging them out of his path as Thranduil cut down the remaining foes with his sword.

In the confusion, Narylfiel broke free from the orc's embrace and stumbled away, scooping up her fallen weapons. She pressed her free hand to her side, pulling her vest over the worst of her wound, which still throbbed painfully. Even so, she could scarcely stop watching her king as he and Taurion plowed through the orcs, until none remained standing, save the leader who had held Narylfiel prisoner.

Thranduil stared him down and slid from the elk's side. "You dare enter the realm of the Elvenking?" he asked and slashed his sword through the air. Its curved blade gleamed black with blood and gore.

The orc backed away, his eyes narrowing with malice. "You can tell your king that we are legion and we are coming. All of this forest will burn to the ground," he hissed and vainly attempted to flee deeper into the woods. Taurion easily cut him off, knocking the orc's weapon to the ground with his enormous antlers. When the orc still tried to run, the elk snorted indignantly and prodded the wretched creature forward until he had pinned him to a nearby tree with the sharpest points of his rack. Arms flailing, the orc's feet kicked out uselessly, but Taurion held him there until Thranduil reached his side, sword in hand, and bade the elk to release his prisoner.

The orc slid down the bark into a heap at the ground, glaring up at the elf before him.

"_I _am the king," Thranduil informed him icily and promptly hacked off the orc's head in one violent arc. "Message received."

Thranduil's shoulders slumped for a second, and then he wiped his sword down, sheathed it, and turned. He wearily surveyed the carnage—gored orc bodies, disemboweled wargs, all the carcasses steaming in the cold afternoon air.

His eyes sharpened as they met Narylfiel's from across the clearing.

Never had she felt so small.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Wooh! Introducing the Debut Performance of THE Party Elk- He's not just a show elk, people! Was the Action too much? Too little? Them fighting scenes be tough, y'all! Let me know! Please Review, Follow, and Favorite!<br>New Goal- Help Get _Kingsfoil_ to 100 Reviews!  
><em>

_Thranduil and Narylfiel are going to have a special heart to heart...in the next chapter! _

_Thranduil: #IamTheKing_

_Narylfiel: #UhOh_

_PartyElk: #Can'tWeJustAllGetAlong?_


	9. Disciplined

**A BIG THANK YOU AND LOVE to all the wonderful readers who reviewed the last chapter: RaleighLane, ArabianNights18, Meldisil, TheLeadMare, Nowa1, crazykenz, AdalineXC, Sakimi1014, K-Clegane, ArwegornandFeowyn, BethRodriguez77, Oriana5, Rousdower, Guest, Nircele. Lots of hugs and elk cookies to everyone!**

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><p><em>Chapter 8: Disciplined<em>

_Three hundred years ago: _

_Her heart thrumming in her chest, Narylfiel practically skipped down the softly lit corridors to the king's study; she knew she hardly looked dignified enough to be a young initiate of the Forest Guard, just beginning her first day of formal training, but she was so excited she could scarcely contain herself. When she reached the lower hanging crossbeams that formed the arch over the next hallway, she stretched her arm out and leaped up to slap the beam; Thaliniel had gotten on to her for that, more than one time, but today Narylfiel felt so exhilarated, so alive! She skidded to a stop in front of Thranduil's rooms and waited for the guards outside the door to let her in. Finally, Elfir nodded, and she cracked open the door and popped her head in. _

"_Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, for she would always address him formally in front of others. _

_Seated at his enormous carven desk, Thranduil looked up from whatever he was reading and his poet's mouth curved into a laughing smile. "Well, do not linger in the doorway," he chided her, "when I know you are dying to show me!"_

_Narylfiel glided into the room and struck a pose, proudly displaying her new initiate's uniform, right down to the tops of her gleaming boots. "What do you think?" she asked him, her eyes bright and eager. _

_Eyebrows furrowed, Thranduil rose from his desk in one liquid movement and circled her, pretending to study her seriously. "Well, you certainly look the part," he said with a grin. _

"_I have waited for this day for so long," she confided in him, smoothing out her tunic, "and now that it's here I cannot help but worry that I may not be good enough."_

"_You will," Thranduil assured her. "I will tell you what I told Legolas on his first day of training for the guard, the same thing my father told me: Be disciplined and willing to learn. The captains can teach you the rest, but if you can do those two things, you will always be well thought of."_

_Narylfiel tilted her head and listened to her king's wisdom and clasped her hands. "Disciplined and willing to learn," she repeated back and flashed him a dazzling smile. "I will be the most disciplined and eager to learn guard that my instructors have ever seen!"_

"_I do not doubt it," Thranduil said quietly to himself as she waved enthusiastically and wished him goodbye, promising to come back later and tell him all about her first day of training. _

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><p>November, 3018:<p>

Filtered beams of light accented the spaces between the ancient trees that twisted like spires from the undergrowth. Dark leaves littered the forest floor, occasionally dusted with the odd bit of snow that had managed to drift in from the thick canopy overhead. The shadows lengthened, and Thranduil appraised the trail of horrors that he had wrought—orcs, wargs, all dead, gutted, throats hung open—yet he found little reason to rejoice from his role in the devastation. Across the scene of carnage, his eyes landed on Narylfiel. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared at her, watched her gulp, felt her fear. His eyes darkened, and he willed himself to slow the pounding of his heart to quiet the surge of fury brought on earlier by seeing her unarmed and captive. He willed himself not to think about what might have been, what might have happened had he arrived only seconds later. Finally, he forced himself to speak and his voice sounded discordant and unsteady to his own ears.

"You…you are not injured then?" he asked uncertainly. Her travel clothes were streaked with orc blood, with the odd bit of dirt and parts of leaves clinging to tunic and hair.

Narylfiel shook her head. "Do I not look the very picture of health?" she joked, attempting to assuage his fears and lighten the mood. She knew she looked wretched and hated for him to see her this way, so broken down and defeated. She most certainly was not telling him about the wound to her side—it was just a trifle, a scratch really—and she did not need him getting more upset.

With a disbelieving look, the king crossed the distance between them and gently lifted her chin with his hand, as if she were incalculably fragile. His full lips stretched into a thin line as his fingers ghosted over the welt on her cheek where one of the orcs had struck her.

He plucked a few errant leaves from her hair, glided his hand down the brown tangled strands.

"Narylfiel." His voice was little more than a whisper as he searched her eyes, as if he needed to persuade himself that she really stood before him, unharmed.

"I am fine," she reassured him. "I was handling it."

"I could tell," he retorted and crossed his arms. His eyes flicked over her again, but he said nothing.

An immeasurable amount of time stretched by, and Narylfiel shifted uncomfortably. This newer, quieter version of Thranduil unsettled her. Why was he so quiet? Why would he not just yell at her and get it over with already?

"Well," she began, "I guess I'll just be on my way then. Not too far from the forest border!" She patted her vest pocket. "This letter will not deliver itself, you know."

She chuckled a little, and Thranduil joined in with her, his warm baritone ringing like chimes through the empty branches. It sounded tinny in the open air, a little too merry, a little too bright to Narylfiel's ears.

"No," he told her flatly. Then he placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "You have acted foolishly, but a fool you are not. Let us hear no more about delivering this letter." He stretched out his hand. "Give it to me."

Narylfiel reluctantly pulled it from her vest and handed it over with an exaggerated sigh. Eyeing the letter like she had just placed a live spider in his open palm, Thranduil picked it up, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his tunic.

"Since you are apparently 'fine' as you so claim, then you can help pile these carcasses to burn," Thranduil told her and gestured to the gruesome trail of bodies behind him. "We will wait here for the Royal Guard to join us. They should be here in a few hours, coming up the forest path. I have already sent your horse back to lead them here."

"Mirima?" Narylfiel enquired about her horse. "You found her then, and she is safe?"

Thranduil nodded once and then pointed to a clear space next to the nearest dead warg. "Let's pile the dead there."

Narylfiel nodded, more than a little frustrated by his lack of communication. It was just so unlike him and frankly unnerving.

Without another word, he went to work, and so did she, dragging the corpses and settling them into a hideous pile. Thranduil motioned for Narylfiel to help him drag one of the wargs.

Wishing for a pair of gloves at this point, she disgustedly picked up one of the paws, while Thranduil hoisted the other side. He gave her a questioning look, and then together they both began to pull the dead beast toward the pile.

Those nasty things were heavy! All this lifting and pulling was not doing Narylfiel's injury any favors either, not that she could mention it to Thranduil now. Her side burned from the exertion.

"I know I should not have left without your permission," Narylfiel told him quietly, straining to move the warg.

Thranduil dropped his side. "You think, Naryfliel?" He pointed around the clearing. "Look at this! Look at them!" Then he dropped his hand and closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to guard his temper.

The king drew a deep breath, and Narylfiel stared and wondered.

Thranduil picked up his side of the warg. "Come. Let's get this one moved."

They left the body next to the pile, for it was much too heavy for them to hoist on their own. Thranduil dropped his side and walked away without a further glance at her. Narylfiel followed him and caught his arm.

"Look, Thranduil. I know I was wrong," she admitted softly and forced herself to meet his eyes. "I should not have gone against your word. I should never have left without your permission."

He drew her hand from his arm, held it while she spoke to him and then released it gently. Thranduil said nothing but looked at her, his expression a mixture of hurt and loss.

A rare breeze teased the ends of his hair across his face. Again, Narylfiel was struck by his beauty—so masculine and strong, but only now he looked utterly devastated.

"Please," she said, hardly believing that she would even consider asking this, "can't you just yell at me already?"

Thranduil arched an elegant eyebrow at her request. "Yell at you, Narylfiel? Could I just _yell_ at you?" And although his voice was still so soft, something indefinable seemed to sizzle in the air, hang on his words.

"I do not wish to _yell_ at you," he said, and for the first time since speaking to her, Thranduil's eyes flashed. In vain, he had tried to hold his anger in, to not lash out at her. He grabbed her with a hand on each of her arms, yanking her close. "I want to shake you, shake you until you realize how close you came to being killed today!" he said, his voice growing more like a roar with each word. Despite his claim, he did not shake her but held her tightly.

"Thranduil, I am sorry," she cried, her eyes darting up to his. Of all the times she had dreamed of being in his arms, this was not how she envisioned the moment.

"You're sorry?" he scoffed. His gaze scorched her, and he tightened his grip on her, pulling her in even closer. "I ought to take you over my knee and spank you!"

"Thranduil!" she cried, scandalized.

He shook his head bitterly and held her gaze. "There are some things that 'I'm sorry' cannot fix, Narylfiel, even between friends."

"I know that," she protested, glad to see the familiar fire return to his eyes—even if it was directed at her, "but 'I'm sorry' is all I have at the moment, Thranduil."

"When will you learn that there are consequences to your actions, Narylfiel? Did you even stop to think about how I would feel after finding your room empty, your bed unslept in?"

Not waiting an answer, Thranduil released her roughly, putting distance between them, his eyes wild.

"Do you think a king does not know fear?" he exclaimed, the anguish rising in his voice. "I was terrified for you, Narylfiel. Worried that you would be killed…or worse! And that I somehow drove you to this, that I pushed you away. That I lost you…"

"Thranduil, no," she protested weakly. Narylfiel reached out to him, but he shrugged away from her touch. "I should never have said those horrible things to you. Please, do not think—"

He cut her off, his words laced with grief, grief that her actions had invoked. "I am equally to blame, Narylfiel." His eyes were bright and sorrowful, but his voice was grim. "As king, I should have risen above such pettiness, and as king, I cannot ignore your willful disobedience."

She nodded her head, just once. "I understand," she said, and she did. Suddenly all of her journey seemed to catch up with her at once. As much as she wanted to appear strong in front of Thranduil, she was tired, oh so very weary. She sank down on the nearest convenient log, pulled her legs beneath her, wrapped her arm across her torso to slow the dull throb of her injury.

Thranduil eyed her carefully. "I want you to know that I did not make this decision lightly, nor do I take any joy from it." He knew his words, even carefully chosen, would devastate her, but she had left him with few alternatives, and this, this was what he hated perhaps most about being king. Knowing that his decisions willfully brought grief to others.

The starkness of the wet, black wood of the trees mirrored her own dark thoughts. Seeing him standing there, his strong face, almost unbearably regal, the straight fall of his hair bleached silvery white in the fading afternoon light. Beautiful, she thought. A model of elven strength and perfection, he was so far beyond her, and she was fooling herself if she ever thought any part of him would willingly be hers, that she could even hope to claim him. And her recent actions had only widened the gulf between them.

He knelt so they were eye level. "Narylfiel, you must resign your position in the Forest Guard."

Her breath caught, but she made no protest. Her eyes did not brim with tears. Her chin never quivered. Like an emotionless mask, Narylfiel's face betrayed nothing. Indeed she felt nothing, only the numbness of disbelief.

Thranduil continued, his voice softening: "If this was only between us, I could have overlooked this display of defiance from you, but as it stands, other members of the guard are on their way now to retrieve you. Narylfiel, they all know what you have done, and I cannot let this go unpunished."

She finally managed a nod and then buried her face in her hands, unable to do anything else, not speak to Thranduil, not help pile orc bodies, not move from her unfortunate seat on that decrepit log.

With dismay, Thranduil watched Narylfiel crumple into herself. Seldom did he despise the authority of his position, but this was one of those moments; and it was not like he never had to mete out punishment! Wearing the crown often meant being the one to deliver judgment, handle discipline and reprimands. But he never enjoyed it, and now seeing Narylfiel's despair, knowing he must not give in, well, it took most of his willpower right then not to go to her and comfort her. Instead Thranduil just stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, reminding himself that this was her choice, her decision. Only…his eyes were drawn to her once more, noting the silent shake of her shoulders. He turned away.

Thranduil went back to piling the bodies, disgustedly flinging them onto the steadily growing pile. Part of him wanted to load Narylfiel onto Taurion immediately and head back for the palace, but he had told the guards that they would wait, and it would not do for the guards to arrive here and find he and Narylfiel gone, leaving them worry about what had happened to their king. No, it was best to wait.

After a while, Narylfiel had wordlessly stood and joined him clearing the last few bodies; she had not said anything and neither had he. Ever so often, Thranduil stole a glance at her. Her dirty tear-streaked face looked utterly fatigued and miserable, and he wondered what part of the downtrodden slope to her shoulders and listless eyes had to do with being attacked by orcs and how much was a result from losing her rank and position in the forest guard. She had been so proud of her commission; it was all she had wanted since he had known her as an elfling.

By the time Thranduil heaved the last orc onto the pile, the light had dimmed considerably with the shadows thickening under the trees. He dusted off his hands and eyed the final warg.

"Narylfiel," he called her name, and she turned just slightly toward him. "Please help me move this last warg."

As she came up beside him to help lift the beast, Thranduil frankly could not remember a time she ever looked worse. Her warm brown eyes were dull, no, more like pained; her skin was unusually pale. He caught her arm as she brushed past him. "We should just leave this for the guard when they come, Narylfiel. You clearly do not feel well."

She swayed on her feet a bit and tugged her arm free. "It's nothing, Thranduil," Narylfiel insisted and blinked. She then grabbed up one of the enormous furry paws. "Let's just get finished. We can't have the guards thinking you made exceptions for me or anything."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at that last comment but only in time to see her try to lift the warg all by herself and then topple over, face first into its furry hindquarters.

"Narylfiel!" he exclaimed, immediately lifting her off the carcass and carrying her into the last fading light where he could see her more clearly. Her eyes were glazed, pupils wide, and when he pressed his hand to her forehead, her skin was cold.

He patted her cheek. "Narylfiel," he called to her softly.

Her eyes refocused a little. "Pretty," she slurred her letters, looking up at him. "Maybe we should rest for just a minute or two."

As Thranduil watched her eyes drift shut again, he felt the icy tendrils of dread curl through his heart. She had told him she was not injured! But this—this behavior, the disorientation, chilled skin, and then he recalled that he thought he had heard her retching behind a tree earlier—these were all symptoms brought on by orc poison. Even the smallest cut could prove lethal if untreated. The king hastily pulled off his cloak and lowered her gently upon it, first checking her hands and arms, and then after a brief mental debate, rolled up her vest and tunic to check her waist and abdomen.

His hands stilled after discovering a small knife wound, raw and angrily swollen, marring the delicate skin right under her ribs. She needed medicine, and although Galion had the presence of mind to include a small field kit in Thranduil's bag before he left, treating this sort of wound would require much more than a simple field dressing. A healer would have to draw out the poison, and the longer the poison settled in the wound and entered the blood, the more difficult the removal. He could do it himself now, if he only had the right herbs. Thranduil shook his head angrily. Stubborn elleth! Why had she not told him that she was injured? Because she was afraid of you, an unwelcome voice in the king's head chimed. And then he had forced her to pick up and lug all those corpses to burn!

Thranduil gently wrapped her in his cloak and picked her up, hating the decision he was going to have to make. Narylfiel had almost reached the edge of the forest. The palace was hours away. He whistled for Taurion, one long trill. If he wanted to save her, Thranduil would have to ride for Dale.

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>

_Oh My! It looks like we're heading to Dale, although Thranduil is none too happy about it! And poor Narylfiel—kicked out of the Forest Guard! Was Thranduil too harsh with his discipline? _

_Please let me know how you liked the chapter! Don't forget to Review, Favorite, Follow! _

_What do you think should happen in Dale? Your input = My Inspiration!_

_Thranduil: #I'mMyOwnInspiration_

Go watch the new BotFA trailer! Thranduil is full of sass and even Taurion makes an appearance!

_Thranduil: #ICameToReclaimSomethingOfMine_

_Narylfiel: Eep!_


	10. Damaged

**A big THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Death to Elves, Just Writing for Fun, Wunderkind4006, ArwegornandFeowyn, Raleighlane, DD, The Lead Mare, NirCele, Oriana5, ArabianNights18, AdalineXC, Rousdower, Sakimi1014. **

**This chapter is for you!**

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><p>Chapter 9: Damaged<p>

_Nine hundred years ago…_

_Yesterday Thranduil had suffered a severe disappointment, in his mind perhaps his worst personal failure, and now morning dawned pale and weak, with only a few meager streaks illuminating the sky over the forest. Thranduil watched the horizon from a high talan, a lookout post beyond the bridge leading to the main gates of his palace. He had been there all night, and now dawn bled into the sky, a new and fresh start. _

_Only, the Elven King did not really feel very fresh, or particularly enthusiastic about returning to his duties in the palace. Only a few hours before had seen him finish off some particularly strong dwarven liquor, a dubious gift from his neighbors. It had tasted terrible and had done little to take the edge off the sting to his heart. _

_His wife, Legolas' mother, left yesterday. She had quietly gathered a single bag of belongings and casually informed him that she would leave with her father, who planned on sailing from Mithlond. _

_Thranduil stared at the horizon, willing himself not to squint or blink as the sun peeked over the treetops._

_She had never really loved him. He knew that now. Persuaded by her father, she had fallen in love with the idea of him, and the reality proved a bitter consolation—at least that was what she had told him on her way out the door. _

_He finally looked away from the glare of the sunrise and absently rubbed his chest. Thranduil wondered if she felt it too, wherever she was. Last night, alone and miserable, a beyond-angry husband had chaffed under the feeling of his bond with her, tugging his heart. He still longed for her, and he hated himself for it. In his fury to forget her, to erase any reminders, any evidence of his inadequacy, Thranduil had invoked his magic and strength as a healer—he knew how to sever temporary bonds after he had called to a patient's feä and healed him—so he had turned that resolve inward, toward himself and his bond with Elarien. _Rista gwaedh_. Painfully, agonizingly, he had carved the remains of his bond away from his heart until nothing remained, except a hollow ache._

_He felt it deep in his soul, his heart. He was damaged._

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><p>November, 3018<p>

Night had fallen, and the air was still. Low hanging clouds shrouded all starlight and the moon. When Thranduil charged up to the side gate at Dale, the watchers came forth with their tin lanterns and wonder written in their eyes. Few had seen an elk so large or with antlers so magnificent. Thranduil would not ask Taurion to enter Dale; a wild thing such as he did not belong in a town of men.

Careful not to jar Narylfiel whom he held in his arms, Thranduil dismounted fluidly and whispered directions for Taurion to return to the woods and the protection of his stables. The elven king approached the men, greeting them pleasantly, doing his best to assuage their misgivings. They clearly took him for elven kind, even if he did have his hood drawn up, for whom else would ride to town on a wild elk?

"I seek entry into your town for myself and my companion. Orcs attacked us on our errand, and we have lodgings here in Dale, where we can rest and recover," Thranduil explained. He certainly was not going to divulge his status to the men of the town. The less known, the better.

The pair of men exchanged looks, and one of them, the older one with white whiskers and a scar running along his jaw, warily shuffled closer to get a better view of his elven visitors. "She looks pretty bad off," the man commented looking up at the elf, who fairly towered above him. "Do you need help?"

Thranduil pulled her in more tightly and answered, keeping his voice warm, "No, my elven lord's residence is not far from here, and I will carry her myself."

"Alright then," the second man replied and moved aside to draw open the gate. Thranduil strode through, his eyes moving up to the rows and rows of houses, with their sharp pitched roofs, and curlicues of smoke rising up from their stone chimneys. He remembered with perfect clarity where his house stood. When Dale had been rebuilt after the fall of Smaug, Thranduil had commissioned several workers to build a new residence on the high street at the top of the hill, a place where his traders, raft-elves, the occasional messenger could lodge without issue.

Thankful that most of the town was quiet, asleep in their beds, Thranduil moved through the streets unnoticed, unremarked upon, and he preferred it that way. The last thing he wanted was to have meddling city officials at his door, hoping to court the attention of the Elven King. As he maneuvered through the streets, snow began to fall, a fine powder coating the cobblestones and frosting the rooftops.

Finally, he reached his house, glad to see that the windows were lit, and his hired caretakers had not been remiss of their duties.

Thranduil did not wait for anyone to answer the door to the house. He knocked only once, and then satisfied that he had given them warning, he wrenched the door open, carefully shifting Narylfiel's weight to his other arm and chest. The retainers hurried into the front room at the sound of the crash. They were an elderly couple, which Thranduil had kept on his payroll for many years, provided that they keep the house fresh and well-stocked with supplies for when his people came to Dale for trade. He frowned briefly. He did not remember them being quite so old.

Thranduil did not give them his name or tell them he was the Elvenking; he was elven kind and that was enough. The elderly couple gawked for a few seconds, in awe of his piercing blue eyes as dark and brilliant as the stars upon the Long Lake, the gold-spun hair, and the protective way he cradled another elf to his chest. Her clothes were torn, and her face, an unhealthy shade of gray. Then the old man remembered his place and hastily introduced himself as Jorid and his wife as Mara.

"Your companion, she is injured?" he asked the elf.

"Yes, for we ran into orcs on our way here," Thranduil told him simply. "I can heal her, but I will need some supplies."

"Yes, of course, my lord," Jorid agreed emphatically. "We have a well-supplied cabinet; your king requested that we—"

Thranduil interrupted him and started up the stairs, "Bring hot water, fresh linen for bandages, athelas—kingsfoil, in Common—yarrow, and plantain, if you have it." He took her into the largest room, one that had three small windows facing west toward his woods. He placed her down on the bed, tenderly brushing her hair to one side, while Jorid rushed in with an armful of supplies, proudly showing his visitor the precious blown glass bottles and a tiny pouch of athelas.

"Just bring the water whenever it's ready," Thranduil instructed him, and Jorid nodded obediently and started to hurry to the kitchen.

Thranduil caught the old man by the arm before he could leave. "And please, do not interrupt—no matter what you may see!"

The healer in him went to work. Shrugging off his dark green suede jerkin and rolling up his sleeves, Thranduil attended to the small washbasin in the corner of the room, scrubbing off the dried streaks of orc blood from his hands and fingers. Once satisfied with the results, he went to Narylfiel. It seemed so wrong that she was this unnaturally still. So unlike her. So very wrong, he thought. Unfastening her vest, Thranduil gently peeled off the fabric from the wound, which looked worse than before, if that was even possible. Festering and swollen, the cut's edges had darkened to black.

Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut, breathed. Reminding himself that he must not fail her, he listened to his own heart beat, willed himself to be calm, steady. After a few measured breaths, he looked up, studied Narylfiel's prone form; she looked so small, so young.

Her long curling lashes rested darkly against the shadows bruising the pale skin under her eyes. Thranduil felt her forehead; her skin was clammy, cold, and still with his hand pressed warmly against her skin, he whispered a prayer to the Valar, asking for guidance, that they would help him hear the the song of Iluvatar. He became utterly still, and he listened. He heard the clatter of horses' hooves on cobblestones down the street, he heard the little old man downstairs adding wood to the fire, he heard the northern wind push against the shingles on the roof, and he listened for the quiet strains of Narylfiel's own part in the Song, reminded of the sound of her laughter, brown eyes shining at him, light feet skipping through his halls. He breathed in, willing his own song to envelope hers.

Thranduil then noticed the bowl of hot steaming water that the old man must have delivered. He took the dried athelas leaves from the tiny little pouch. It was such a small amount, but it would have to do for now. Crushing them with his fingers, he shook them into the water, and the sweet fresh smell curled into the air, focused his senses.

He slid his hand over her heart, feeling the shallow rise and fall of her chest, and called her name while he did so, pouring the warmth of his spirit, his power, his feä, channeling it through his hands. Invoking the liege bond of king to vassal, he called to her first as her king, then as her friend; he closed his eyes, could feel rather than see the delicate shining veins of her feä, her spirit running warm and vibrant like life blood through her hroä, crisscrossing through her body in a beautiful lacy pattern, a filigree net circulating out from her heart, giving her strength, giving her light, feeding her song, the song of light feet skipping down his halls, and Thranduil let his own spirit drift down from his hands, filter out into that golden brown warmth and call to her. As carefully as he could, he infused his own strength into that lacy, shining net, calling to her softly again and again, invoking a bond to heal and to soothe with the grace of the Valar.

Her eyes fluttered open, only for a moment. "Thranduil, no," she whispered, but it was too late.

Like one who has been trying to catch an unseen hair or thread, the king at last felt the surety of one fragile wisp, and closed around it tightly, with all his strength and will.

And as soon as he did, he pushed all of his warmth, his healing, toward her through that tiny vessel, burning away any trace of poison, soothing the swollen veins, mending the damage wrought. He could feel her chill and how the poison burned as he forced the tar-like substance from her veins, as he purged its blackening crawl through the intricate weave of her feä. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as he repeated incantation after incantation.

The poison was slow to leave, resistant, and Thranduil shifted on his feet. It wasn't enough, he feared. Too much damage had been done; her body was dying, and the king could feel her delicate spirit, the fine golden brown web waver and dim without the energy of the hroä. The rise and fall of her chest slowed. Thranduil's eyes flashed. He would not lose her. Don't fight me, Narylfiel," he implored her, gripping her hand. "Let me heal you. Trust me, little spark. Let go," and he pressed a soft kiss to her cool cheek.

A rush of sensations, emotions, flooded him as soon as his lips touched her cold skin. Love, friendship, pain, grief surged from the tangled gossamer latticework, radiating through the bond he had forged which she had finally stopped resisting, and Thranduil seized the opportunity and strengthened their connection, pooling his warmth all around it, listening to the dull beat of her heart, and willfully he blended his vibrant feä with hers, hearing her song strum along the warm golden brown strands, echoing its refrain with layers of his own triumphant notes.

Love, friendship, pain, grief, the king could feel her emotions rise and bubble within himself. Thranduil focused his energy, concentrated on the dark twisting lines of poison snaking through her body. Love, friendship, pain, grief. She hurt. Fire consumed her veins. She was tired, so weary.

And then Thranduil saw himself, or rather saw a likeness of himself as Narylfiel saw him, impossibly tall, silken hair falling over his shoulder. It was a memory or a dream, and Thranduil knew at once he had pushed too hard, opened the bond too far. The images surged forward before he could stop them. He had lost control.

He saw a memory, one he thought he recalled, although a little hazy, though shrouded in a fine mist. Narylfiel looked older than he remembered her actually being in this dream-memory. They were in her bedroom. He had heard her cry out in the night, and he had left his rooms to check on her. In his recollection, he had reassured her that the dark dreams of her first encounters with spiders and orcs while on patrol with the forest guard would fade. He had patted her hand, kissed the top of her head and left.

In Narylfiel's dream-memory, Thranduil watched as dream-Thranduil stood, a tall silhouette at her door, hesitant until his ears pricked at the sound of her tossing and turning. She had cried out, and he had called to her softly, brushing his hand over her silken hair. He leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek; only in this dream, she angled her head at the last moment, meeting his lips with her own. And suddenly Thranduil was no longer merely a spectator watching the scene unfold, but rather he felt the press of petal soft lips against his own, could feel his own mouth hungry against hers, ready to consume, devouring her. He pushed her back into the pillows, felt her hands ghosting up the sides of his shirt, his own hands skimming down the length of her long, white nightgown until he reached the hem.

The force of her need for him lanced through their bond with a sizzling white heat and intensity so great that it was painful.

Thranduil staggered back, and frantically tried to withdraw from the bond he had initiated, to limit their connection, anxious to separate himself from what he had just seen, from what he felt. She was unconscious, and he turned away from her, confused, ashamed. His body had completely betrayed him, and he still throbbed from the heat of Narylfiel's dream-memory.

He pressed his forehead to the icy windowpane, trying desperately to find any measure to cool his blood. Thranduil glanced back at the elleth sleeping behind him. Tamping down tightly on those threads woven with his own, he carefully approached her, and tried to assess what still needed to be done.

He had not finished drawing out the poison, but he did not trust himself to reopen the bond right now, not even a little bit. For now, he had removed enough of the poison to save her. The king told himself that he would try again after he rested, after he collected himself. To keep himself busy, his long fingers went to work making a poultice to place on the wound that would help draw out more of the poison in his absence. With the utmost care, he applied the athelas and yarrow paste onto the dark, raw edges of where the orc's blade had torn her skin and then applied a clean bandage. He ignored the fact that his hands shook as he leaned over to touch her or that his eyes lingered on her heart-shaped lips. He quickly found a blanket, covered her with it.

Oh, Valar! Thranduil thought to himself as he collapsed into a spindly rocking chair in the corner of the room. He stretched his long legs out and tried his best not to dwell on what he had seen and felt, what Narylfiel had inadvertently shown him. But of course, he could think of little else. She loved him, wanted him even, and based on the force of emotions that flooded through their bond, these feelings were not the product of some casual attraction. How long had she felt this way? The degree of her desire nearly undid him. Thranduil scrubbed his face with his hands. She had been jealous when she had spied him being kissed under the mistletoe at the Yule feast. Of course she had been upset.

Thranduil usually prided himself on his decision-making abilities, his discernment, and wisdom. But this…

He did not know what to do, or even how to begin. She was his dearest friend, his little spark. He certainly could not let her keep languishing after him; and now that he knew of her attraction, it was not like he could just un-know it!

Above all, he did not want to hurt her, but it was becoming clear to him that his blindness to her feelings for him had already caused her pain and would undoubtedly hurt her even more in the long run. He was too old for her, and…and he was hopelessly damaged. She deserved someone young and whole.

He would try his best to forget what her lips had felt like beneath his own.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please Review, Follow, and Favorite!<em>

_Well, does that count as a first kiss? Maybe not. It's definitely NOT what Narylfiel probably had in mind! And how mortified is she going to be that Thranduil saw that little fantasy? Should he tell her about what he saw or not? Hmmm... _

_Thranduil: #ISawNothing! #IsItHotInHere?  
><em>

_Next chapter should be a doozy! There may need to be another heart to heart! Right?_


	11. Protective

**A BIG Thank You to Every Wonderful Reader who REVIEWED the last chapter: JustWritingForFun, The Lead Mare, Amythra, Meldisil, Raleighlane, Rousdower, LakeLady, Hethelil2014, DeathtoElves, ArwegornandFeowyn, ArabianNights18, BethRodriguez77, Guest, Nircele, Oriana5, Sakimi1014, Crazykenz, and AdalineXC. ** Your excitement for the last chapter completely fanned the flames for what is about to come...

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><p>Chapter 10: Protective<p>

_Two hundred and fifty years ago…_

_Thranduil knocked the sword out of her hand. Again. _

_Narylfiel huffed as she leaned down to pick it back up and dusted off the dirt. "Are you enjoying yourself?" _

_He smirked a little. "I always enjoy our special times together," he said and laughed. "Remember, it was your idea to come down here in the first place!"_

_She rubbed her backside where she had fallen on it. Again. Smiling, she shook her head and then swung her sword lazily in her hand. "Best out of seven?" she quipped._

_Thranduil held up his hand, as if to pause their game. "Show me the grip again," he instructed her. She came over to him and aligned her hands over the hilt of her sword, just how he had shown her earlier. _

"_That is a good start," he coached her, "but I noticed on your follow-through that your hands were sliding."_

_Narylfiel's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. "If only I had gigantic hands like yours." She tried the grip again and showed Thranduil. _

"_Better," he said with a nod and then grinned slyly. "And Narylfiel, if you had huge hands, then that would be a little off-putting to any future suitors." _

_She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes. All those future suitors lining up at my door," she retorted._

_Thranduil shook his head. "You are adorable," he told her, "even if you do have a sloppy grip." He leaned in, whispered conspiratorially, "I hear some elves in the guard could even learn to look past that sort of thing." Thranduil turned and reached for the pitcher of water._

"_Well, there's only one possible elf that I would consider courting," she told him frankly._

_Thranduil straightened, glanced at her from over his shoulder. "Oh? Who?" he asked. _

"_Trust me when I say that he is not interested," Narylfiel said glumly. She sheathed her sword and took the offered cup from the king's hand. _

"_Hmm, secretive," Thranduil observed. "Just tell me his name, and I would throw him in the dungeons for you." He winked at her, and then offered his arm to return back to the palace from the range. _

_Narylfiel could only smile wryly. "Perhaps one of these days I will let you know," she said. _

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><p>November, 3018:<p>

From possibly the most uncomfortable man-made seat, a too-small rocking chair with spindles carved at just the right pitch and angle to dig into his back, the elven king of the Woodland Realm watched his young charge sleep fitfully all night. Perhaps he could have summoned the servants who ran the household for a cushion or a more comfortable seat, but Thranduil did not budge from his post. He was far too deep in thought.

His mind drifted to all the times over the past year that she had come to him, popping into his study with a charming smile or story to tell or meeting him at the range to practice, of all the hours they had sat and visited over tea. Narylfiel made him laugh. She always found a way to lighten his mood. He thought of all the occasions when he had teased her about having a suitor. She had always hinted that there was one who held her fancy, but she had never named any elf. Thranduil now knew the source of her reticence—for surely she had meant him! He massaged his temples, and exasperatedly noted that he had caught himself staring at her again. He tried to focus on all the possible times that he should have realized how Narylfiel felt for him, but instead his mind kept going back to how she had clung to him in the dream, how her body had felt against his.

He couldn't lie to himself. There was a part of him, and he was not sure how much, but a part of him that was more than a little intrigued by the promise of Narylfiel's dream. He had felt cold and distant, disconnected, for so long—and as for last night? That dream, however brief, had ignited something in him that he had long thought dead. He had wanted her in that dream, and truth be told; he still wanted her right now.

Outside, the sun crept up over the distant foothills. Thranduil half-watched as the early light touched the windows and inched across the room, until the warm beams fell across the length of the bed. He could not deny how he had felt when Narylfiel had kissed him, pulled him into her, enveloped him in her warmth, her hands on his chest—nothing about it had even been real—but it had felt real. His bond with her, the one he had clamped down on, but not broken off, certainly felt more real than anything Thranduil had experienced in a long time.

He rubbed his chest and sighed. How could he even think that? She was Thaliniel's little sister.

She was young and beautiful. He wasn't blind. Of course he knew how beautiful she was, had seen it for years. Her long shining brown hair and lively eyes, always sparkling, always seeing the fun in a situation, her long, long legs, slim waist, and curves that even her guard's uniform couldn't hide. Thranduil loved beautiful things, prized beauty in his halls, but she was no gem to be hidden away in his vaults. Even if Narylfiel chose to remain naively unaware, Thranduil knew for a fact that she was not without admirers, those who would eagerly line up to court her, bed her. And thankfully, she had always spurned every advance. Now he knew why.

He contemplated how he might have felt if she had returned their attentions, if Narylfiel had attended a fire circle and a young, eager ellon pulled her into the woods, his hands going for her waist… No, Thranduil realized with the perfect clarity of one who has slept little in the past two nights, that he would not have welcomed the idea. Narylfiel was his little spark, always had been, and he naturally felt protective. But ah, was that protectiveness really just a nice veneer for his possessive nature? He did not like to share.

Thranduil huffed and stood up. He drew a worried glance at Narylfiel who had yet to wake; her pulse was low and her skin was still too cool to the touch for his peace of mind. He removed the soiled dressing, stained oily black from the seeping poison and replaced it with a clean bandage. She was not healing as quickly as he would like, and he had seen many poison-related wounds over the years. The orcs were either getting better at their craft or had somehow found a better source; they usually employed a mixture of spider venom, but this poison was the most resistant he had seen in a long time.

If only he had completed the bond-healing last night, Thranduil despaired. But now was no time for recriminations! He feared now that the bond-healing might not be enough. Narylfiel needed medicine; if he were back at the palace, he would prescribe a suspension of _agar salque, _for it fortified the blood, but the herb was rare, and he doubted that he would be able to find it here in Dale.

He absently brushed his hand over her hair. She would rest better and more comfortably in clean clothes. The elven king noted with disgust her stained and rent tunic. Why had he not insisted that she be changed last night? Thranduil took a minute to straighten his own clothing and smoothed his hair and then thundered downstairs to the kitchen where he was sure to find the old man and woman.

They were there, sitting together at a tiny green glazed table with a pot of tea. They stopped whispering when he came into the room. Of course, they were talking about him. With his elven hearing, he could not help but catch snatches of their conversation even from upstairs, things like "so tall, nearly touching the ceiling" and "never seen him before" and "noble looking, maybe an emissary for their king, sent to check up on us;" he was too polite to eavesdrop and had tried to ignore most of it.

The little old man, stoop shouldered and squat, hopped up as soon as he saw him. "My lord, what do you need?" he asked eagerly.

"My companion seems to rest comfortably for now. She will need a change of clothes," he said and fixed his gaze at Mara, the wife. "Will you attend her?"

Mara nodded approvingly. "I was thinking about that since last night. Poor thing!" she tsked and made her way up the stairs.

The elf turned his gaze to the man next, who, to his credit, did not shrink from the intensity of his dark blue gaze. "I require an apothecary—she needs medicine," Thranduil informed the old man.

"I-I-I would be happy to fetch whatever you need, my lord," Jorid said, and he reached for his muffler hung by the back door.

Thranduil's eyes flicked over his short legs, unsteady feet. He glanced out the small window, mostly obscured by lethal looking icicles dangling from the eaves.

"I can go more quickly," Thranduil decided. He certainly could not send this old fellow out across icy streets; he might break a hip or something. Humans, so frail in their elder years! The elven king rushed from the room to grab his cloak, not that he feared the weather but mostly to conceal his hair and ears. The old man gave him some directions, and Thranduil bade him to keep the fire hot in Narylfiel's room while he left. He worried about leaving her, if only for a little while. Even if he had limited his bond with her—and with great difficulty, too!—he still felt the tug of his connection to her, urging him to return upstairs, to her bedside with his hand in hers, her warmth, her love. Quick to squash that line of thinking, Thranduil yanked on his cloak and hurried out the door, raising the hood at the first bite of cold air snapping across his cheek.

Thranduil found the apothecary's shop squeezed into a small corner on the lower streets where most of the guilds and craftsmen plied their wares. A sign with 'Wychelm's Herborium' in fading paint with the remnants of fading leaves and vines swung over the door. He ignored most of the looks he drew as he crossed the street; even with his hood drawn, he was still taller than most men, and more than a few people angled their heads to get a closer look.

The door slammed shut with a merry jingle behind him, and a sickly sweet cloying smell assailed him, making Thranduil's eyes water and his temper short. He would have completely abandoned the idea had he not needed medicine for Narylfiel. A tremor ran through him at the thought of her; he knew it was the bond and the newness of it, and being parted from her, even temporarily, pained him. The sooner he could get her the medicine she needed and finish healing her, the better, Thranduil decided.

"What can I do for you today, my good sir?" a voice chirped behind him, and the Elven King startled, turning around so quickly that he frightened the apothecary, who knocked off his own tasseled cap in his excitement.

"Goodness me, young fellow!" the apothecary exclaimed in a rather pinched voice as reached for his cap and replaced it snugly on his balding head. "Don't be so hasty!" He was middle-aged, Thranduil guessed. He never fancied himself a good judge of age when it came to the lives of men, but something about the apothecary's tone just set him on edge.

The elven king pulled back his hood, slowly, letting it drop down. His blonde hair shone even more golden in the meager lamp light of the shop, and Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the man before him.

"I have been called many things," Thranduil replied slowly, his voice deep and melodic, as he took a measured step toward the man, "but young fellow—I have not heard that in many ages."

"We d-d-don't get many elves this way," the man stammered, looking up. "What do you need today?"

The name of the herb was just on the tip of Thranduil's tongue when he unexpectedly felt a deep chill, as if ice had seeped into his very bones, and he could not help but shudder. It was the bond, he realized—and right now Narylfiel suffered; perhaps her fever had worsened. Thranduil grimaced and pressed his hand over his heart, as if that gesture would somehow ease the unbearable, a slow creep of frost through his veins. He needed to hurry. He needed to get back to her. Now.

"Are you ill?" The apothecary tried to sound concerned.

"No," Thranduil replied brusquely, "I need _agar salque—" _he thought for a minute and shook his head, "—It would be called blood grass in your tongue." He tried to ignore the feeling of dread stealing over him.

"Blood grass? I don't have any," said the apothecary, a little too quickly for Thranduil's comfort.

The elven king nodded but drew out several gold coins from his pocket and turned them over in his palm for the man to see. "You would earn the gratitude of the elves of the Woodland Realm."

The man looked away, and Thranduil sensed his discomfort. "I don't have any," he repeated. "Blood grass only grows during the vernal equinox! I collected all I could, but I sold it. Just sold the last of it a few weeks ago."

The elf's eyes sharpened as he scanned the myriad shelves lining the walls, full of countless ointments, medicines, potions, herbal remedies. Thranduil angled his head and studied the man for a few seconds, who shifted uneasily under the intensity of that icy elven gaze. "I sense that you are not being entirely honest with me," the elf's eyes darted to the hanging sign, "Wychelm. I could look through every single bottle in this store, check every collection just to make sure you're being honest; of course, things might get frightfully messy before I finished."

Wychelm glared up at him. "You wouldn't!"

"I would, and I could get away with it before you could stop me," Thranduil told him, his voice still easy and warm. "To whom did you sell the blood grass? Perhaps they would be willing to sell some of their share or make a trade."

"I don't know who the buyer was! They were cloaked!" the apothecary sputtered, his eyes growing wide as Thranduil returned the coins to his pocket and pulled out a long, elegant looking knife instead.

"Do you often make a habit of selling to customers with secret identities?" Thranduil asked incredulously as he traced his fingers over the runes engraved on the blade. "What else did they buy?

"Just the blood grass!" Wychelm said, his voice ending in a terrified squeal as Thranduil caught his arm and shoved the man into the back wall. The bottles and jars rattled on the shelves, and the elven king was upon him with inhuman speed, his knife poised at the man's throat.

"You are lying," Thranduil coolly informed him. "Why?" Underneath his poised exterior, the elf felt ansty, impatient to leave. Narylfiel needed him. He tightened his grip on Wychelm's upper arms.

"He told me to say nothing!" The man sniffed pitifully, his eyes filling with panicked tears. "He paid me double and told me he would be back!"

"I am here right now," Thranduil countered, eyes gleaming, "with a knife at your throat, and you're worried about later?" He smiled mirthlessly.

"Mandrake!" the man cried. "I sold him the blood grass and my entire supply of mandrake!"

Thranduil stilled and then released his grip on the man. "Mandrake?"

"Yes, most people usually want it as a fertility aid! So I sell it!"

Thranduil backed away, sheathed his knife with a metal hiss. "But it's also a poison…in the right doses or mixed with other ingredients could be used as a lethal poison." He pressed his hand to chest again, feeling the strain of his bond with Narylfiel as he recalled the oily, dark substance oozing from her wound.

The apothecary adjusted his hat with a sniff. "What they do with their mandrake afterwards is not my concern."

"It is your concern now," Thranduil informed him matter-of-factly. "If my companion dies, I just might come back and kill you. Tell me then, who else have you sold blood grass to in the past year?"

"The dwarves! I know I sold some to them. Their main healer came in. They were having a problem—some of their young warriors were sick. He paid in gold!" squeaked the man.

Thranduil nodded just once and then left the shop without a further word, the door with its bells jingling behind him. The sharp cold air and tang of wood smoke cleared his thoughts, and he pulled his hood back over his head. The dwarves. If only it were anyone, anybody else. He crossed the street, but his eyes were drawn to Erebor as he hurried back to his house on high street. As he finally turned the last corner, he saw the old man at the front door, looking for someone—looking for him!

"My lord, she is awake and asking for you. My wife is with her now—we think she's feverish—started right after you left." He held open the door for his employer, and Thranduil did not waste anytime getting to Narylfiel's side.

She _was_ awake but hardly coherent. Her face brightened when he entered the room, discarded his cloak on the chair and took up her hand in his.

"Thranduil," she murmured. "I'm cold, so cold."

The elven king checked her dressing, and then pressed his hand to her forehead. Not feverish, but her body temperature had dropped. The poison was still fighting against her system, slowing her heart beat.

"She's been crying for you since she woke up," the little old woman told him, rising from the stool she had pulled up by the bedside. "We built up the fire and added another blanket, but her skin feels like she fell through ice into the Long Lake. It's like she's going into shock."

Thranduil nodded, not taking his eyes off of the elleth in his care. He tucked the blanket more carefully around her, and Narylfiel's eyes fluttered and closed and then opened again.

"Thranduil, I am sorry," she whispered. "Sorry to cause you all this trouble…"

"What? No, naurenniel," he chided her softly, smoothing her hair back. "It is no trouble, and I am here with you."

"It's just that it hurts," she mumbled. "So cold, and lost."

"Get into bed with her," suggested the old lady.

"What?" said Thranduil. He had forgotten she was still in the room with him.

"Get in bed with her," instructed Mara, all seriousness. "When my Thomas fell through the ice when he was just a boy, the healers had me strip down to my underclothes and hold him under the blankets—warmth—body heat."

"Couldn't you…?" Thranduil's voice trailed off and he gestured to the bed.

"No," she answered flatly. "I'm just skin and bones—couldn't keep myself warm enough—but you," she eyed him speculatively. "Well, just look at you! You probably heat up enough for three beds!"

Thranduil nodded, still unsure. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled off his boots, removed his jerkin. The old lady still stood there, hands on her hips, as if waiting. He stared back at her. He wasn't just going to strip down with her there, staring at him.

Narylfiel moaned in her sleep. Thranduil reached for her, brushed his finger down her cheek. She was so cold, like death. He refused to entertain the possibility.

"Are you worried for her virtue, my lord?" Mara asked, eyes softening.

Thranduil cast a glance at the elleth behind him, her soft brown hair fanning across the pillow, her lips, slightly parted. "I'm more worried for mine than hers," he said under his breath.

He looked back at the old lady, still watching. "I will call for you if I need anything," he informed her and then without waiting any more, he pulled off his tunic in one fluid movement, baring broad shoulders and arms, chiseled from years of sword work and archery. Even as king, his was a warrior's body, toned and deadly.

The old lady turned to leave, a rosy hue on her leathery cheeks. "You'll do," she told him approvingly, "you'll do."

Thranduil slid into the covers, hesitated, and then pulled Narylfiel into his arms. Everything about her was cold, even through her thin nightdress, and touching her amplified their bond—he could feel how chilled she was, especially for elves who so rarely feel cold—and in spite of himself, Thranduil shivered. He had cleared most of the poison from her system; why then was she not recovering? He hugged her to his chest and concentrated on their bond. He could feel the sweep of cold through her veins, down her arms to her hands, and he covered hers with his own, warming her thinly clad shoulder with his breath. He willed her to rest and draw from his warmth, and he sang to her softly a song of peace and love, pulling her through the bond to a place of warm sun under green-leaved trees, where the moss grew thick and water chortled along smooth grey stones. He pictured them there, together, propped up against an enormous trunk, his arm wrapped around her waist and her head nestled warmly on his shoulder. Rest, dear one. Rest.

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><p>Narylfiel woke up first, just as the shadows were starting to lengthen across the room. She felt warm, safe, and surprisingly satisfied. Content. As her senses came into focus, she realized with a mixture of clarity and growing alarm, that she was in bed, wearing someone else's nightgown, and there was a very heavy and muscular arm draped across her waist.<p>

Dread and curiosity curdled in her stomach. She had seen that elegant hand before, knew exactly who had those long, strong fingers. Narylfiel's eyes followed the trail from the tips of his fingers nestled in the warmth of her gown up his arm to his bare shoulder…

…and met his eyes, so soft, watching her.

He gently disentangled himself from her, brushed a hand over her hair. "Hello, there," he told her. "This is the best I've seen you since the forest."

Bewildered, she looked down at her nightdress, tenderly prodded her injury, and then peered at him, at his chest, the sculpt of his arms. She blushed. "This is new," she commented. "When did this happen?"

Thranduil actually returned her blush and then reached across her to the stool where he had dropped his shirt earlier. But he did not pull it on. Instead, he nervously wadded the fabric into a ball, and then pensively straightened it back out. He turned toward her, gathered his hair and let it fall over his shoulder.

"I brought you to Dale last night," he told her, running his hand over the top of her hair. "It was…not good. I was afraid I was going to lose you."

"You healed me?" she asked, frowning a little, and Thranduil sensed her anxiety, her embarrassment.

"Can you feel it? I had to invoke a healer's bond to draw out the poison," Thranduil told her and then added, disappointedly. "I wasn't able to finish last night, and then earlier this morning you went into shock—you were freezing, so—"

"Wait, wait, wait—" she interrupted him. "You made a healer's bond with me? Like that thing you did with Legolas that one time?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, protectively.

"Narylfiel, I had to—"

She sucked in her breath, cut her eyes to his, searched them worriedly. And for the first time, she felt him, more than just the heat of his body next to hers, but she could feel his peace and warmth radiating through her, and in one moment her heart soared at their connection—at the intimacy—but in the next, she realized how false it all was, only because of her injury, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you, Thranduil," she said, looking down, and her hair hung down around her face, hiding it from view. "I wish you hadn't," she added quietly.

Struck by her disappointment and longing, the king brushed her hair back, guided her chin up to look at him. "Narylfiel, I had no medicine, no resources. You were dying. I only wish I could have removed all of the poison through the bond-healing."

"Why? Why didn't it work?" she asked, still hurting, and pointed out, "It worked with Legolas."

"I did not realize it at the time, but the poison in your system is some new kind of evil concoction—more potent, more resistant," Thranduil paused. He swallowed hard and took all of her in, her long silken hair, and trusting big brown eyes, those heart-shaped lips, and he hated himself for what he knew he was going to say next.

"Narylfiel, I saw something through the bond I forged between us during the healing, something I know you didn't mean for me to see, but I did, and I never meant to intrude," the elven king said, chagrined.

She stilled. "What did you see?" Narylfiel heard herself say. Her voice sounded odd to her ears, and she was fully prepared to die from mortification right then and there.

Thranduil took her hand, and focusing on their bond, he pushed the image of them kissing to her. All of it. Narylfiel immediately pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned and covered her face.

"I could have never acted on it," she cried, her voice muffled from behind her hands. "I do care about you, more than I have ever cared about anyone, but…you're also my best friend, and I would never want to jeopardize that."

"Narylfiel," he started carefully. He really wanted to pull her back into his arms at once, because he felt all of her shame and hurt weighing down her heart, but he refrained and instead said, "I want you to know that you are dear to me, precious. I care about you greatly."

Narylfiel shook her head woefully.

So Thranduil continued, "I also want you to know that although I was surprised, well, shocked by your dream," he felt himself smile, "I am not opposed to the idea behind it." And as soon as he said this aloud, he realized it was true.

Narylfiel looked up from her hands. "You're not?" Disbelief underscored her small voice, and her heart began to race.

"No, I'm not," confessed Thranduil, and he grinned a little, and the effect of him there, lying next to her, smiling down at her, with his silvery-golden hair cascading down across what Narylfiel thought might be the most perfect chest and arms ever, well, it was enough to make her want to melt.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Hey, hey! Ten pages in this chapter, guys! That's 30% more than the last chapter, just saying, but I just couldn't stop! I hope you liked the new developments in this chapter, and as always, please Review, Follow, and Favorite! What happens next? Narylfiel still needs that medicine, and looks like the only people around who have it are the Dwarves... Who feels up to a visit to the Lonely Mountain?<br>_

_Thranduil: #NotOpposedAtAll _

_Narylfiel: #Melting_

_Legolas: #DysfunctionalFamily Help!_


	12. Dangerous

**I am very Thankful for all my delightful readers who reviewed Chapter Ten: Jenny-Wren28, Cheez Socks, Buffy Ann S, Meldisil, Alexandrion, Amanda, K-Athelas, LakeLady, Guest, Wunderkind4006, Sakimi1014, AdalineXC, DeathtoElves (I dedicate this chapter to you!), Hethelil2014, KrystalSky, BethRodriguez77, Oriana5, Crazykenz, RaleighLane, Rousdower, ArwegornandFeowyn, and the lovely NirCele. **

**the flames are getting hotter... ;)**

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven: Dangerous<p>

_Autumn 2941, Third Age:_

_Failure left such a bitter taste in his mouth._

_It was late, far later than the Elven King was known to stay on his enormous carven throne, now cast into a pool of darkness in the cavernous hall. If the king's antlered broach on his chest did not occasionally reflect the lamplight, then he would have easily been mistaken for the shadows._

"_I missed them?" Narylfiel's voice betrayed her disappointment. She had never seen a dwarf before. It was just one more let down that she was going to have to let go._

"_They may have escaped," the king admitted crossly. _

"_That's impossible!" she exclaimed and frowned. _

"_Apparently not," the king bit off his words. Narylfiel could not make his expression out very clearly because of the shadows, but even so, this might have been the angriest that she had ever seen her king._

"_Tell me about what happened?" Narylfiel asked, looking up at the throne, hoping he would come down to her. _

_Thranduil uncrossed his legs and then crossed them again. He muttered something that Narylfiel could not quite make out. _

_Now, many a wise elf would have turned and discreetly left the king to his own dark mood at this point, but Narylfiel had never counted herself among the very wise. Instead, she climbed the stairs ascending to the king's enormous antlered throne and plopped down at the top step at his feet. _

_He scowled at her. She could see his face clearly now and the way his eyebrows seemed to curve into a singular frustrated line, but she remained undaunted._

"_What do you think you're doing?" he asked sharply. _

"_Well, I'm pretty hungry, having just come back from the southern border, but I wanted to spend some time with you," she told him, ignoring his pique._

"_So you're just going to sit there?" asked the king. His eyes glittered coolly in the dark._

"_With you, your majesty," she replied simply and gazed up at him. She knew he was angry, and his temper honestly frightened her from time to time. But they were also friends, and she could not in good conscience leave him stewing over the dwarves' escape all night. _

"_I might stay here all night," he countered, smoothing out an invisible crease from his tunic._

"_Then I shall as well," Narylfiel said agreeably._

"_I could order the guards to carry you to the dungeons," the king warned her. _

"_Apparently," she said, borrowing his own word from earlier, and smiled sweetly up at him, "they're not that secure."_

_Thranduil pursed his lips at her remark. Of course he was not going to laugh, even if it was funny; instead, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he said. "But only because I can't have you fainting off the steps from lack of nourishment." _

_He stood and then helped her to her feet. "I really despise those greedy little miners," he told her as they walked down to the kitchens. "They honestly believe they're better than the elves, Narylfiel." He snorted and pushed open the door to the dining room. "Delusional." _

"_Where do you think they went?" _

"_Oh, I have no doubt that they want to return to Erebor," Thranduil said tiredly as pulled out a chair for her and took his usual seat at the table. "This whole mess will end in a bloodbath, Narylfiel. Our people are not the only ones with claim to the treasure in that mountain. If the dragon does not kill them first, then..."_

"_Then what, Thranduil?" Her voice sounded small and lost in the tall-ceilinged room._

"_Then I do not know," he told her and did not speak of it again that evening, but in his prideful heart, Thranduil already knew exactly what he would do. He would not leave their insult unanswered; he had heard that other races deemed the elves of the Woodland Realm 'more dangerous and less wise.' Well, he would show them exactly how dangerous they could be. _

* * *

><p>November 3018, Third Age:<p>

After Thranduil excused himself to make some arrangements for their travel, the kindly old woman returned to Narylfiel's bedside with her clothes, cleaned and mended. Narylfiel took them gratefully and accepted the woman's help in getting dressed.

"Your young man, err elf, seems set on getting you this medicine," she observed to Narylfiel with a sly smile. "He has been most attentive to you."

"He is too kind," Narylfiel allowed as she gingerly leaned over to pull on her boots.

"Here now, let me help you with that," Mara insisted. "I still don't know why he insists on dragging you up to that mountain with him. Poor thing, you've been so ill."

Narylfiel placed a calming hand on the older lady's fretful ones. "The dwarves may have the medicine that can fight the poison; my friend hopes to draw the rest out once the medicine weakens the poison's hold over me." She shrugged. "Elven medicine, I don't really understand much about it either."

Mara nodded and pulled a small comb from her apron pocket. "If you don't mind, my lady, I thought I might…"

"Yes, of course! Please do," Narylfiel encouraged and turned around. Mara admiringly drew the comb through the long shining strands. "Your hair is lovely. Such a warm color."

Narylfiel colored a little as she recalled earlier in the afternoon, waking in Thranduil's arms, hearing him admit that he would consider changing the boundaries of their relationship! She did not even know what to call it. Had he agreed to be her suitor? The word seemed painfully inadequate to suggest what he offered, encompassed. To be lovers? Narylfiel blushed some more. She was thankful that Mara stood behind her and could not see her reddening cheeks. Thranduil had run his hands over and through her hair, smoothed it away from her face and eyes. Those hands—and this time bearing no rings, no king's crest—just long, attentive fingers that soothed her, had combed through her hair, toying with its ends, half-braiding and unbraiding the strands as his eyes searched hers. He had been so tender, so gentle and loving. Narylfiel had been sure that he was going to lean in right then and kiss her, just like in her dream…

…but he had not. Did not. Kiss her. Not even one tiny little peck. Instead, he told her that they were going to have to go on a little excursion to get her some medicine and he excused himself. She watched him leave her bed and drank in the sight of his long, lean torso—those shoulders!—and narrow hips hugged by soft leggings. Narylfiel had really only wanted to do two things in that moment: first, to weep from the loss of him; second, to vow to get him back into her bed under any sort of circumstance or design.

"My lady?" Mara tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh!" Narylfiel stopped daydreaming. "I am sorry. Did you say something?"

Mara smiled at her kindly. "I asked if I could pack you and his lordship some food for the trip." She patted Narylfiel's knee. "Why don't you come down to the kitchens with me, my dear? It would do you good to get up and around a little bit."

Mara wasted no time in installing Narylfiel at the small green table by the back window and bringing her a mug of steaming broth, hot off the stove. She sat down across from the elleth and picked up her basket of mending, working a little while she kept a watchful eye on how much broth her patient drank. She asked curiously about Narylfiel's family; would they not be worried about her? To which Narylfiel replied that they would not worry about her knowing that she was in good hands. Thranduil would never let anything happen to her.

Mara cleared her throat. "Thranduil," she repeated. "This is your handsome companion's name?"

Narylfiel bit her lip. "It's a very common elven name." She was pretty sure that Thranduil wanted to keep a low profile. They had not discussed it, but she could guess.

The old woman nodded shrewdly. "This house belongs to an elven lord named Thranduil. I was thinking he might be their king, the same one the old duffers spin yarns about in all the stories about the burning of Laketown and the great battle," she said.

"Well…" Narylfiel's voice trailed away, and she took a slow sip of broth to stall.

"I _am_ Thranduil, the Elven King of the Woodland Realm," Thranduil confirmed, coming up behind them from the front room, placing both his hands on Narylfiel's shoulders. "I am sure you can understand why I would prefer to remain anonymous."

Mara instantly dropped her head down in a bow. "Yes, your majesty," she exclaimed reverently and dared to look up, her eyes darting from Narylfiel to the tall elf lord filling up the room. Her mouth curled into a toothy smile. "My family owes you much, my lord, for your continued generosity over the years."

Thranduil dismissed the statement with a wave. "You and your husband have served many of my people faithfully for years, Mara."

"And your majesty, I am sorry that I made you undress in front of me earlier," the old woman apologized. She met Narylfiel's eyes and mouthed "Not sorry at all" to her behind her hand and winked.

"If you would please excuse us," Thranduil asked the old woman, and he took the seat across from Narylfiel at the table.

He waited until the woman closed the door behind her and then took Narylfiel's hand in his. It was still cold, but a definite improvement.

"Narylfiel," he said at last, "do you think you can ride?"

She bristled. "Of course I can ride! I feel much better."

The king shook his head woefully. "Narylfiel, it cannot last; not with the poison still in your system."

"But why would I feel better now? And not worse?" Narylfiel did not understand.

"Because I am helping sustain you through our bond," Thranduil explained softly, lacing his fingers through hers. "The closer we are, the more effective it is." He paused, looked down at the worn tabletop. "Even when I left to go to the apothecary shop, you practically went into shock. No, I do not dare leave you here."

"What if you get the medicine?" Narylfiel heard herself ask, and she concentrated on the feeling of his hand holding hers, the press of his warm palm against her own.

"Then the medicine strengthens your blood, enough so that I can finish the bond-healing." Thranduil's eyes drifted to the small kitchen window. They needed to leave soon.

"And then you would sever our bond?" Narylfiel had to know. As much as she did not like being injured, she did not relish the thought of losing him that way.

"I would, Narylfiel," he told her. "It is not a healthy connection, for either us." This sort of bond was never meant to be long-term.

She nodded but did not speak, and her eyes lingered on their hands intertwined on the green tabletop.

"Narylfiel, look at me," Thranduil commanded, but his voice was soft. "If I heal you and can sever the bond, it will not change anything about how I feel or how you feel." He squeezed her hand a little, made sure she met his eyes before he added, "And there are other and more pleasurable ways of forging a lasting bond."

He pulled her to her feet and guided her out the front door to their horse, purposefully denying her a chance to respond, other than hearing her catch her breath at that last teasing statement and feeling the shot of desire that thrummed straight through their bond.

* * *

><p>Thranduil had procured a decent mount, strong enough to carry him and Narylfiel up the river to the main entrance of the mountain. It was no Giant Elk or even comparable to an elven bred steed, but the horse was a good-natured fellow and had sturdy, sure feet that knew the way to Erebor. Thranduil considered himself fortunate to find any mount on such short notice and told Narylfiel so.<p>

She rode with him, one of his arms wrapped snugly around her waist. They both wore their cloaks pulled up, and the snow continued to fall, dusting them white as they traveled through the night, stopping only briefly to let their horse rest. Even then, Narylfiel noticed that her king took care to stay within arm's reach of her at all times; he continually checked her temperature, asked if she needed an extra blanket, made sure her hands were warm enough.

As they neared the mountain, Thranduil's mood grew increasingly grim and he wished that certain past misdeeds would not hinder him from being able to get the much-needed blood grass for Narylfiel.

The first guard commanded them to halt. He and the others patrolling the road to the main gate wore handsome fur hoods and gold glinted at their buckles. Their eyes were sharp and fierce, their beards, long and immaculately braided. Narylfiel, who had never met any dwarves before, was suitably impressed.

"Do not look for a warm welcome," Thranduil told her quietly, adding, "and let me do the talking."

The dwarf hissed and reached for his sword. "Elves…" Two of the other guards fitted arrows to their bows.

"We come with a message from Lord Elrond of Rivendell for King Dain," Thranduil announced.

"Well, hand it to me, and I'll see that he gets it." The dwarf's eyes narrowed and his fingers did not leave his hilt.

"I must deliver this message personally," Thranduil replied archly. "Or has the hospitality of the dwarves diminished that they leave weary travelers standing in the cold?"

Adjusting his fur lined hood, the dwarf snorted. "Better than the hospitality of the elves whose king throws weary travelers in his dungeon, or so I've been told."

Thranduil stiffened at the insult but said nothing.

The dwarf turned and went briefly to consult with his fellow guards on the matter.

"He did not recognize you," Narylfiel whispered to her king.

"No, but once we are inside and remove our cloaks, there will be others who will," he predicted. "King Dain will."

"What's to keep them from throwing you in their dungeons?" she asked quietly. "I do not like how vulnerable we are."

"Nor do I," Thranduil said softly in her ear. "But unlike Thorin Oakenshield, I have an entire army that can ride to our rescue, and King Dain knows it. No, he will be more diplomatic , although I am sure the idea will be encouraged by more than a few of his counselors."

A pair of dwarf guards returned and announced that they would escort the elves to the main doors of the mountain, made seemingly impregnable by what must have been years of Dwarven stonework and masonry. Even Thranduil noted aloud to Narylfiel that the dwarves had clearly not been idle in the years following the Battle of Five Armies, such was the advanced skill displayed in the ingenuity and artistic precision of the new main gate.

Once the elven couple had been delivered inside, their horse seen to by some dwarven lads, and ushered into the main hall, Thranduil removed his hood and instructed Narylfiel to do the same.

There were more than just a few surprised gasps as the Elven King strode proudly up to the throne, where King Dain sat and a few of his advisors and counselors looked on from the side.

"I come with a message on behalf of Imladris and the Woodland Realm," Thranduil announced, his eyes just as glittering and formidable as if he had come in his finest robes and crown, surrounded by the most elite of his Royal Guard, instead of the reality, in which he was a little travel-stained and muddy looking.

"Well met, King Thranduil." Dain's eyes crinkled under his bushy eyebrows, and the dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What brings the Elven King to Erebor in such bad weather, unannounced and unheralded?"

"War once made allies of dwarves and elves many years ago," Thranduil told him, "and now war is upon us once again." Reaching into his cloak, the Elven King produced the missive from Lord Elrond and passed it off to one of Dain's advisors, a disgruntled looking dwarf that Thranduil recognized as one of Thorin's original company.

The dwarf took the missive up to Dain to read, and in a loud whisper, suggested, "I don't know that we should trust him, Dain! He's dangerous and clearly up to something!"

"Peace, Bofur," Dain intoned and unfolded the letter to read, but some of the other dwarves standing beside the throne began to grumble and point at the Elven King.

Up to this point, Narylfiel had remained silent, standing just a little behind her king, but she could not stand idly by and hear her king defamed.

"It was my fault," she blurted out to the dwarf named Bofur.

"Narylfiel," warned Thranduil, but she moved around him.

"Miss?" Bofur was surprised to hear the she-elf speak. In fact, he had not even realized she had been standing behind the king until she had piped up, looking straight at him.

Narylfiel's words spilled out in a rush. "King Thranduil does not have any secret designs or intrigues planned I assure you! He's only here because I acted very foolishly and left his halls without his permission, thinking I could deliver the message from Lord Elrond! Only then the king heard that orcs had broken through our southern border and I was in danger, so he rode in haste to rescue me, and he did." She turned for a second to beam at Thranduil, whose mouth had straightened into a hard line at this point.

Dain and Bofur exchanged amused looks. In truth, it was rather humorous to see a lovely and earnest she-elf jumping to her lord's defense, not that he needed her help in the slightest.

Dain's nose twitched, and he tilted his head ever so slightly as he took time to study the pair before him. "Is this story true, King Thranduil?" he asked seriously, but his eyes were merry.

Thranduil shot Narylfiel a dark look. "Unfortunately, yes."

At this admission, Dain let out a hearty chuckle. "Women!" he exclaimed. "Bless 'em! There's no accounting for what notions they get into their heads." Then he fixed his gaze at Narylfiel and told her solemnly, "You should consider yourself very fortunate, young lady."

Narylfiel nodded and lowered her eyes. She knew more than he the exact truth of those words.

Then the King under the Mountain clapped his hands together. "I would like to discuss the news you have delivered, King Thranduil, but the hour grows late," he said and directed a little smile at Narylfiel. "Your young lady could do with a goodnight's rest, I'd wager." Dain turned to give directions to some of his staff to provide for the needs of his elven guests.

"She was poisoned," Thranduil interrupted, his voice hard like the edge of dwarven masonry. A careless observer might have guessed that the Elven King was extremely angry at this turn of events, but Dain was shrewd and caught the way the other king's eyes softened as he glanced at her. No, not angry—distressed and anxious perhaps. It was a side of the usually polished Elven king that few ever beheld.

"Poisoned?" asked Dain, sharing a worried look with Bofur.

Thranduil frowned as he recalled how he had struggled to draw out the dark sinuous liquid from Narylfiel's wound. "The orcs have improved their craft it seems," he said bitterly.

The dwarf king's brows furrowed into a deep crease. "Bofur, see this young lady to the healer's ward."

Bofur nodded and gallantly offered his arm to Narylfiel. Unsure, she glanced up at Thranduil, who nodded his permission for her to go.

Bofur lightly patted her arm as he steered her away. "Sneaking out of your King's halls and getting attacked by orcs and being poisoned? Sounds like you have had quite the adventure, my lady."

Narylfiel shrugged, still unsure on how to feel about him, despite his fairly jolly countenance as navigated the spacious halls of the Mountain and greeted fellow dwarfs along the way.

"Here we are!" announced Bofur brightly. "We'll get you fixed up, dearie." He showed her into a room. "I'll go get someone for you."

Narylfiel surveyed the room, noting its dark blue accents, and took a seat on a finely polished bench. She wished Thranduil had come with her and wondered if he would find her. Pressing her hand over her heart, she tried to concentrate on the feeling of her bond with him. Worrying her lower lip, Narylfiel did not want to think about losing her connection with him; even if what the king said made complete logical sense, she dreaded him severing their bond and the subsequent loss of his golden sunshiny warmth, his comfort. Thranduil said it was for the best, Narylfiel reminded herself, but she could not see how.

Bofur popped back into the room. "I brought you a blanket," he told her, flapping it out and then draping it over her. "The healer went to find you some medicine." He plopped down on a bench on the other side of the room and stretching his legs out, crossed his ankles.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, his eyes kind.

"Tired," Narylfiel answered honestly and pressed her hand over her heart again.

"King Dain won't mind me telling you this—we have had four of our younger warriors poisoned over the last two months of patrols." Bofur shook his head.

"Did they...did they all recover, I hope?"

He nodded. "Aye, they did, and I came in when they brought the first one here; young warrior, hadn't even grown in a full beard yet. He was screaming, just screaming, and clawing at his leg where they'd cut him, the poison already black in his veins."

Narylfiel looked distinctly uncomfortable and pulled up the blanket a little higher.

"I didn't say all that to frighten you," Bofur said, looking abashed. "I just meant to point out what a tough little thing you are!"

"She is a 'tough little thing,' through and through," a voice said from the door, and Narylfiel instantly perked up.

"King Thranduil," she chimed, the relief evident in her voice.

Thranduil stood at the door beside a white-haired dwarf holding a medicine cup and some bandages.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Bofur said, waving to Narylfiel but completely avoiding any eye contact with Thranduil. "Feel better!" he called from the door.

The healer bade Narylfiel to lie down on the bed, which was admittedly a little short for her—she had to curl up her legs to keep them from hanging over the end. With Thranduil looking on, she pulled up her tunic enough that the healer could examine the injury to her side. He gently unwrapped the bandage and tsked as he examined the cut and cleaned around the edges where the poison had blackened her skin.

"Very similar, King Thranduil," he observed, "the darkening of the skin and veins around the wound, the color of the discharge. If I had to guess, I would say that this is the same poison that nearly killed a few of our boys."

The healer turned and walked briskly over to a little work table, in which he poured the powdery contents of a packet into the medicine cup he had brought with him earlier. "Powdered blood grass," he told Thranduil, as he picked up a stirring rod and swirled the contents until the liquid took on a dark red hue. "Just as you said. So far, we've had the most success using it against this particular poison." The healer brought the cup over to Naryfliel and instructed her to drink it slowly.

Thranduil nodded his agreement, and Narylfiel could feel his relief through their bond.

The healer fixed his eyes on Thranduil, "It is curious to me, King Thranduil, that a king and a warrior—yes, I've heard the stories—should also know so much about the healing arts. If you hadn't worked your elf magic on this young lady earlier, she would have surely died without getting any medicine."

Thranduil glanced at Narylfiel as she pursed her lips to sip her medicine. Blood grass tasted horrible—very pungent, and the smell was less than appealing—and she would have to drink the entire cup. But he was thankful, so grateful, that she should have it, so he smiled graciously at the dwarf before him. In truth, Thranduil had always enjoyed learning about herbs and healing, and told the dwarf so. "I am not so practiced in Elvish medicine as Lord Elrond, but I have learned enough to be a help to my people. When she finishes the medicine, I will attempt to draw the rest of the poison out. I am…very grateful for your king's hospitality and the blood grass to heal her."

Meanwhile, Narylfiel continued to drink, her knuckles white as she gripped the cup and forced herself to swallow.

The healer reminded her to make sure she drank the entire cup and then excused himself, asking that Thranduil might bring her back to the ward tomorrow for a check-up.

"Oh, I thought he would never leave," exclaimed Narylfiel, her lips stained red from the medicine. "This stuff is the nastiest thing I have ever tasted!"

"You are very fortunate to have the nasty stuff," Thranduil reminded her. "Only for you would I willingly subject myself to the torture of dwarven hospitality."

She smiled up at him and took another wretched sip. "Eugh."

"Come," Thranduil told her. "We have some rooms, 'man-sized' rooms as one of the dwarves informed me, and you can finish your lovely tonic there."

* * *

><p>Thranduil drew her into the first room, which thankfully did have appropriately sized furniture—so much better than the tiny bed in the healing ward!<p>

"We will stay in here," the elven king said, his fair face showing the tiniest smidge of approval of the nicely appointed room, clearly made up for the more important guests that came to stay in Erebor.

"We? What we?" Narylfiel looked up from her noxious drink, her eyes drifting from Thranduil's handsome visage to the decadently made up bed behind him.

"Yes, we—we, because I am not letting you out of my sight or reach until I finish healing you and remove this bond," he informed her as he crossed the room to investigate the sideboard by the fireplace.

"Oh," the elven king sighed happily. "Now here is some medicine that Thranduil desperately needed!"

Narylfiel turned, cup still in hand, to see her king pouring himself a full goblet of dark, red wine.

"Dorwinion!" he pronounced the word like a prayer and lifted the glass toward Narylfiel. "Here is to healing you properly and returning to the palace!"

"Cheers," grumbled Narylfiel as pinched her nose and took another horrible sip of the sludgy medicine.

"Now, now," Thranduil chided her, his mood much brightened by his discovery. With glass in hand, he buoyantly explored the rest of the room, which even he, fueled by the liquid comfort of his Dorwinion, had to admit was pretty nice. He peered into a room drawn off to the side, lit some candles within, and reappeared, grinning.

"Oh, Narylfiel," he teased her, "you'll want to finish that medicine quickly!"

"Why? What did you find?" she asked tiredly, and she really thought the medicine might be making her even drowsier.

"They've drawn us a bath," Thranduil said, his blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight, "and the water is still warm."

Still watching her across the room, he unbuckled his belt, loosened his scabbard, and gently set them on the table by the door. Then he reached for his jerkin and unticked the clasps one by one, sat down on the bed and drew off his boots. When he reached for his tunic and shrugged it off, leaving it on the coverlet, he turned and looked at Narylfiel over his shoulder, his long hair spilling down his finely corded back. "I will be in here, if you need me," he said.

Her head swimming, and not just from the medicine, Narylfiel pinched her nose again and downed the rest of her medicine in one long gulp.

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><p><em>Oh dear! Seems like we've reached the end of this chapter! <em>

_Thranduil: #ButIWasJustGettingWarmedUp #BubbleBath_

_Narylfiel: #Gulp_

_Please Review, Follow, and Favorite!  
><em>

_Will Narylfiel ever finish her medicine? Does Thranduil use up all the good shampoo and conditioner? and more importantly, will he be able to finish healing Narylfiel and sever that healer's bond? Plus, more dwarfy goodness to come in the next chapter! Are there any of Thorin's original company that you're dying to see? I'm taking requests!  
><em>


	13. Patient

**To all my readers whom I adore for reviewing the last chapter: Perko, Nowa1, meldisil, raleighlane, crazykenz, Oriana5, Rousdower, Arwegornandfeowyn, Tierney Macdonald, ArabianNights18, Cheez Socks, KrystalSky, AdalineXC, Death to Elves, Alexandrion, Jenny-Wren28, Wunderkind4006, Buffy Anne S, BethRodriguez77, Sakimi1014, and NirCele. **

**Thanks for the love! I hope you're enjoying the story. **

On a side note, I know I usually update faster than this-but this chapter...Argh! By Sunday, I had written 8 pages, promptly decided I hated it, and started rewriting. Then today, I finished the new version. Reread both versions. Then decided they were both equally terrible and started over. Writing is a process. I still have very mixed feelings about this chapter. But I'll let you be the judge! ;)

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><p>Chapter 12: Patient<p>

_Three thousand years ago…_

_Hair sticking to the back of his neck and slightly out of breath, Thranduil lay in the dark, and the room was utterly silent, save for the sound of his uneven breathing and his wife's quiet exhale. His wife. He could still very faintly hear the remaining party guests from his wedding finishing the wine in the Great Hall, and now he was bonded, married. _

_His wife lay curled up beside him, but in a fortnight's time, he would be marching with his father and the sum of his army to the War of the Last Alliance. He closed his eyes and found the beginning spark of his marriage bond, like a single candle flickering in a long hall. His father had told him these things could take time._

_He touched her shoulder. "Elarien," he whispered her name and thought himself blessed by the Valar to wed such a beautiful creature. Her hair, like fields of gold in the sun's dying light, fell in perfect waves to her waist. Thranduil picked up an errant strand lying across her bare back and marveled at the weight of it; he tentatively ran his hand through the rest of her hair. _

"_Not yet, Thranduil." Elarien's voice was weary. That she was tired, Thranduil could understand; the evening's activities had been strenuous to say the least, not to mention their bonding. Smiling to himself at the memory, he ran a finger across her shoulder, down her arm, awed by the softness there._

"_I love you," he whispered, and when she did not return in kind, he resolved not to let it bother him. He was patient. He could wait._

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><p>November, 3018:<p>

Thranduil stretched and then squeezed the water from his hair. He felt positively elvish and much restored from all of his recent traveling and the hassle of having to deal with the dwarves. Of course, he did not have a change of clothes with him, so he dried off quickly and pulled his leggings back on. Peeking through the door, he noted with a smile that Narylfiel had fallen into a deep, healing sleep with her eyes closed—more like passed out from the hefty dose of blood grass the dwarves provided. He thought she might; the old healer had given her enough to knock out a full sized stocky dwarf, and Narylfiel was such a tiny slip of a thing. It was for the best. She needed her rest, and he would be able to finish the bond-healing.

Thranduil studied her, his eyes drawn to the way her brown hair curled across the coverlet like warm silk and the redness of her lips, darkened from the blood grass. He pulled a blanket over her, hesitated, and reached for her hand, still clutching the empty medicine cup. Taking the cup from her fingers to set it aside, he laced his fingers through hers and felt a guilty pleasure at the surge of the bond between them. Thranduil could not think of anything to compare the feeling to, except perhaps taking a long, slow sip of miruvor, and the way the cordial warmed his whole body from the inside out and left him feeling renewed, stronger. He reminded himself that he needed to break the bond after healing her, reminded himself that he could not allow it to continue, but in the stillness of the room—and only for a minute, he told himself!—he sank down on the bed next to her and let himself hold her hand, relishing the feel of her skin velvety against his palm.

He marveled that this should have happened to him, to her. She was such a young, bright spirit, so joyful and fresh, and he was…not. Compared to her, he was as ancient as the dark, twisted trees that grew in the deeps of the forest, and his heart had seen much of despair and bitterness; he would move his entire army to shield her from the kind of suffering and loss he had known. Narylfiel had become infinitely precious to him, not just from the revelation of her feelings for him, but for the sum of all she had been to him, ever since the day she had sat down for tea with him the first time as a young elleth and coolly explained how she planned on making a match between his son and her sister. She never failed to surprise him.

He wrapped his long fingers around her slim hand and lazily rubbed his thumb against the soft inside of her wrist. Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes. Only for a little while longer, he reminded himself. Oh, how he had fallen. His father had always warned him he was too soft-hearted, too sensitive. Not that different from his own sweet son, his Legolas, Thranduil thought wryly.

Thranduil forced himself to open his eyes, to let go. He would not think of Oropher, not now. Now would he wonder about Legolas and his safety. Some hurts ran too deep.

He stood up and brushed his fingers over Narylfiel's forehead. Her temperature had already greatly improved; his fingers glided down to her neck; her pulse was much stronger, steadier and even. He picked up her hand again.

Placing his other hand over her heart, Thranduil breathed deeply, exhaled, and focused on the warmth of her skin, feeling her heart beat, hearing her quiet breathing over the crackle of the fire on the hearth. He closed his eyes and reached out through their bond, feeling the delicate arch like a bridge spanning the space between them, and he prayed. His voice, low and resonant, Thranduil murmured words of healing and sustenance to Narylfiel, to the Valar, and he felt the hiss of heat surge from her to him, from him to her. Invoking the power of the Valar to mend her wound and cleanse the rest of the poison from her veins, the elven king channeled his grace and power across the shimmering network of tiny threads binding his feä to hers. This time the poison, weakened by the blood grass, burned away, until no taint remained. Already Narylfiel felt so much stronger to him, brighter, more effervescent.

The healing complete, he relaxed, and their bond bloomed warm under his hand, from his arm up to his heart, a thick pleasant pulse. Thranduil thrilled to the feeling of their connection—the depth and richness of it, seemingly so much more than just a simple healer's bond, and definitely more compelling than his first marriage's bond, which had been so shallow, transient…disappointing.

Briefly, Thranduil contemplated what it would be like to wake Narylfiel and tell her he had changed his mind, to pull her into his arms and keep her there for the rest of the night. He wouldn't, of course, but the temptation was there. The desire certainly was there, but between Narylfiel and him, it had become abundantly clear that he was going to have to be the practical one. He would not create a situation where anyone could claim that he took advantage of her or forced her into a bond she did not want.

Thranduil knew from experience that his personal life needed to be above reproach from any of his court, or Eru forbid, his family. He was intensely private about keeping his personal matters personal. He shuddered slightly to think what Thaliniel or Legolas might say if they knew what had happened. Only right now, they did not know, and this thing that had grown between him and Narylfiel, their relationship, was their own.

If Thranduil was honest with himself, he knew that talk was inevitable. He was the king. People talked about him. Members of his court would speculate, or probably have already speculated about his friendship with Narylfiel. He would have to be careful. Narylfiel was well loved in the palace; he intended to keep it that way.

With strengthened resolve, Thranduil focused once more on the steady hum of their combined song knitted through the shining strands of their feäs—hers, bright and joyful, lapping at the edges of his, which flowed steadily on like a cool, dark river coursing through moss-green banks of his forest—the love and trust radiating from his young friend staggered him. Oh, he knew that she did not want him to break their bond, and he hated the thought of hurting her or making her feel as if he did not care. He did care, very much!

Already had he let this healing bond go on for far too long.

So with the greatest care he reached out and tore away the delicate connections between them. One by one, up to the last shining strand, until each was left loose and fluttering. With a pang in his heart, Thranduil felt a cold emptiness from the loss of her.

Still Narylfiel slept on, Thranduil observed with some relief, until he noticed the fine line of moisture beading the dark fringe of her lashes and starting to spill down her cheeks. He gently wiped them away, feeling the hot track of her tears as if they were his. His hand drifted to his cheek and found it wet.

Thranduil angrily swiped at his eyes and cursed himself for being so foolishly weak, knowing this was who he was away from the throne, away from his court, away from the demands of the crown. He had always been deeply sensitive, much to the horror of his fierce father. Oropher had tried his very best to groom and train that aspect of his son's personality out of him, so Thranduil had learned to conceal that part of himself, to stow it far behind a cold and ruthless front. After his father's death, after Dagorlad, as the slow weight of leadership settled over his shoulders like an oversized mantle, Thranduil began to push away anyone who could hurt him. The Elven King of the Woodland Realm could ill afford to be vulnerable. His friends. His wife. Even Legolas, Thranduil realized regretfully. Narylfiel had been different from the very beginning. She stubbornly refused to be pushed away, no matter how much he tried. He thought of the time after the dwarves escaped and he spitefully tried to get rid of her. Still she stayed. His eyes drifted over to her.

Ai! He needed to pull it together. Tomorrow, Dain and his dwarf advisors would look for a meeting with him.

Thranduil lightly brushed his fingers across the top of her hand. _Nothing_. He had severed their bond, had ripped through every single part of the precious filigree.

Sometimes he really hated himself.

He strode over to the bar, grabbed the bottle of wine, and then stopped himself. It was not like he was some uncouth dwarf here. Honestly, it would be a bleak day in Middle Earth when Thranduil settled for drinking his wine straight from the bottle. He reached for a glass, inspected it for unsightly smudges, and then poured himself a very generous amount. Glass in hand, Thranduil sprawled out in front of the fireplace close to the hearth, letting the fire dry his hair. That bond was only a temporary measure, he reminded himself.

* * *

><p>In the early hours of the morning, Narylfiel woke with a start, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. Thranduil reached her side before she could call for him.<p>

"How do you feel?" he asked carefully, folding her hand in his.

Tentatively she pressed her other hand to heart and frowned a little as her eyes moved to the careful way he held her hand. "You finished the healing," she said, willing herself not to cry, not to become upset in front of him. "You severed the bond." Her words spilled out like an accusation.

"I did," said Thranduil, and his eyes, although kind, were unapologetic.

She nodded and slowly sat up, swinging her feet off the bed. "I did not mean to fall asleep," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap. "I meant to…"

She did not finish her sentence, and her cheeks pinkened.

"Drowsiness is a side-effect of the blood grass," Thranduil told her, "and you needed to rest, Narylfiel. Thankfully, I was able to draw the rest of the poison out."

Pushing herself off the bed, Narylfiel found that she was still a little unsteady on her feet. "I think that I would like to clean up a little," she said.

"The water will be cold by now, but I could have them bring some more," Thranduil suggested.

"No, I would not want to be a bother," she replied quickly and excused herself, closing the door to the bathing room firmly behind her.

Thranduil stared after her, blinking after she shut the door in his face. Well, that conversation went better than he supposed it would. He had been more upset than she was; perhaps all of his worry had been for nothing. Narylfiel always had been very independent, very resilient.

Still…Thranduil wondered at her reaction as he settled onto the bed and leaned back on the pillows against the headboard. His ears picked up the muffled noise of her moving around in the next room, pouring water into the washbasin. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a sniffle and then another…

Thranduil sat up. With a growing sense of dismay, he eased off the bed and crept toward the bathing chamber.

He gently tapped on the door. "Narylfiel, are you well?"

No answer. More sniffles.

Thranduil tapped again, growing more concerned. "Narylfiel—"

"I am _fine_, Thranduil. Just…washing up." From behind the door, her voice sounded strained.

He crossed his arms, leaned up against the doorframe. By now, he was almost certain she was, in fact, crying, and obviously desired to do so privately. Thranduil only thought he knew how to handle difficult situations and artfully employ diplomacy to ease conflicts. Nothing in his long life had prepared him for this.

"Narylfiel," he began carefully, wishing he could just break down the door and sweep her into his arms. He had a feeling that might not go over so well. "Narylfiel, you have every reason to feel upset, to feel hurt. I hope you know that I would never think less of you for how your feelings."

There was a long pause, and then: "I know you only acted for the best. I—I did not want you to think worse of me, for crying like a child."

Thranduil rested his forehead against the door, traced the finely carved wooden panels with the tip of his finger. "If you are upset, I want to comfort you—what has changed between us that you cannot look to me for comfort? I have seen you cry before, Narylfiel."

"What has changed?" Her voice was quiet, and he heard the pad of quiet steps to the door, the turn of the knob. Then her face, lovely and heart-broken, fresh-scrubbed as though she had tried to erase any evidence of her crying, peered up at him. "Everything has changed."

And the quiet desperation in her voice combined with the sight of her liquid brown eyes struck his heart with all the force of a dwarf's hammer.

"No. Maybe," he admitted, pulling her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as he had so many times throughout their friendship. "Our relationship will change, but—" He broke off mid-sentence, frustrated when the right words would not come, and pulled away from her, tipping up her chin to make her meet his eyes.

"I want you to know, Narylfiel, that breaking my healer's bond with you was one of the harder things I have ever had to make myself do," the king told her.

She blinked and then wiped her eyes again. "Knowing what you have done, I find that rather difficult to believe, your highness."

Thranduil's lips curled at her retort and he steered her over to the warmth of the fire, where both of them sat down upon the large stone hearth.

"Narylfiel, you are so warm, so loving and spirited, and everything about you that drew me to this friendship, I could feel through our bond—of course, I wanted to keep it." He lifted his hand to cup her cheek and then combed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "But I knew that I could not, because I would not take advantage of you…because making that bond had been solely my decision, not yours."

"The decision might not have been mutual, but that does not have to mean I wanted the bond any less," she told him, her hand unconsciously straying to her heart, still aching from the loss of him.

"I know, but still—I would not take that choice from you, nor would I have the memory of our joining be one-sided." He drew her hand away from her heart to his mouth and pressed the soft inside of her wrist to his lips for a single scorching kiss, and his eyes darkened.

The fire crackled again as Narylfiel flushed from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck.

A slow smile crept over his face, and he languidly traced the pattern of heat with his finger from her cheek and on down her neck, which only made Narylfiel blush more.

Thranduil leaned in and gently pressed his lips to the soft curve of her neck. "I want you," he said and pressed another kiss right below her ear. "But here is neither the time, nor the place. You deserve a proper courtship, and I am patient. I can wait."

Narylfiel nodded, even though her emotions were a riot of frustration and longing. She then did something that she had longed to do, ever since she had first met him—when her eyes had first caught that fall of silvery-gold hair. She reached for him and softly ran her hands over the back of his head and combed her fingers through his hair, still a little damp from his bath earlier.

She played with the ends a little, just as he had done with hers before, smoothing out the long strands down his back and against his chest, until Thranduil caught her hand. "If you keep on, I'll have absolutely no will power left at all," he said, with a gleam in his eye.

"What if I kissed you?" Narylfiel teased and defiantly ran her hand through his hair again for good measure. "What then?"

Thranduil captured her hand in his and smirked a little. "We already dream-kissed, and you saw what happened then!" Even thinking about that dream did evil things to him.

"Dream-kisses do _not_ count," she protested and pouted a little.

He pulled her in a little closer. "Do they not?"

"No," she said, her voice suddenly going soft with anticipation.

From the front of their room, a horrible banging racket interrupted their moment. Both elves' heads snapped in unison toward the door.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "I really hate dwarves," he muttered and stood. He took his time walking over to the door, even though the loud knocking only grew louder. The elven king looked apologetically back at Narylfiel, still perched by the fireplace, and swung the door open.

It was that meddlesome dwarf Bofur.

"King Dain has called a meeting of his council. He has requested your presence, King Thranduil."

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><p><em>Author's note: Well, I did not manage to get very much dwarfy action into this chapter, but next chapter will feature more of Bofur along with Dain's council. And oh dear, it seems that Thranduil will not be in a very good mood. He hates being interrupted. <em>

_Thranduil: #DamnDwarves _

_Narylfiel: #Ditto_

_Please Review, Follow, Favorite! Thranduil thinks if the story could get up to 200 reviews, then he would be in a more amiable mood and could maybe forgive Bofur's untimely interruption and not have to kill him at once. _

_Bofur: #IveGotABadFeelingAboutThis_


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